


Through Plights and Promises

by Gingertard



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bellatrix Black Lestrange Lives, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Rehabilitation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 107,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26264758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingertard/pseuds/Gingertard
Summary: The three saviors of the wizarding world return to Hogwarts to hold onto the one last piece of childhood innocence they can. Bellatrix Lestrange miraculously survives the Battle of Hogwarts and receives an astonishingly light sentence from her Wizengamot trial. Placed under house arrest, Bellatrix is given a shot at rehabilitation with the help of her sisters and to her surprise, a familiar face that had haunted her dreams ever since their meeting at Malfoy Manor. Hermione/Andromeda/Bellatrix/Narcissa femslash. Blackcest content. Some OOC content as is the nature of this relationship surrounding Bellamione
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Andromeda Black Tonks, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Narcissa Black Malfoy/Andromeda Black Tonks, Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 109
Kudos: 609





	1. Reflection

A tree strewn with gold and red garland held a bold presence in the Gryffindor common room, each branch holding a student's choice of ornament. Harry Potter's was a tiny golden snitch that swung to and fro on its branch, the wings fluttering impossibly fast. Of course it couldn't escape its hold, as its magical charm kept it in place. Ron Weasley's Christmas ornament was a sparking beetle with menacing pincers. It too swung from its roped position and made a tiny clicking sound with each snap of its claws. Some of the students turned their nose up at the unappealing sight, regardless if the beetle was magic or not-- it did not matter.

The last member of the Golden Trio's ornament was quite a peculiar one. A knife with a knotted walnut handle gleamed dangerously, eerily still as a stark contrast to its surrounding ornaments. Speaking of the surrounded ornaments, they almost seemed to avoid Hermione's ornament. Subtle to an unsuspecting eye, one couldn't tell that the ornament-filled branches turned the slightest bit away from her own. The knife commanded a presence and Hermione took notice of this. _How peculiar_ , Hermione thought. The bushy-haired girl recounted the memory of her purchasing said object from a shop on the corner of Knockturn Alley. Famous for boasting the most unsavory of witches and wizards, it had seemed innocent enough. Some of the more bold Hogwarts students frequented the shop, mostly because they wouldn't dare stroll further down the street.

Hermione had strayed from the Weasley family and Harry once emotions came to a peak when Molly Weasley had brought up Fred's love for The Leaky Cauldron's seasonal juniper tea drink. It seemed they were still adjusting to the events of the past year. Harry and Ron were offered an early entrance to the Ministry's auror training program, but they politely declined once they found out Hermione would be returning for their final year. They boys decided they would stick around to have at least one peaceful year at Hogwarts with their best friend. Perhaps they wanted to hold onto the fleeting innocence taken at the Battle of Hogwarts for just a little while before returning to be the world's heroes. Hermione understood this herself, having grown up much too fast as well. Once Hogwarts' renovation was complete, Hermione along with Professor Minerva McGonagall went on a search for her parents. Once found in Brisbane, the two powerful witches removed the obliviate's blanking tendrils from the couple's memories. They never quite recovered all of them, mostly childhood memories that already had holes in it. Gerald and Jean Granger, previously Wendell and Monica Wilkins were rightfully upset, yet could not stay angry with their daughter. Relief from the odd pressure they had felt from the spell's touch blossomed throughout a few days, and by the time the family and professor had returned to England, they were almost back to their old selves.

But no one truly could have escaped the events surrounding the war unscathed. Hermione's carved arm would pulse viciously at night, even more so when nightmares plagued her dreams which seemed to be often these days. There weren't many encounters with the young witch where her friends hadn't noticed the seemingly permanent bags under Hermione's eyes. Her sleeping habits got better once she returned to Hogwarts which seemed odd to the brunette. This was hallowed ground, after all. Many of her friends had given their lives to the fight against Lord Voldemort and they were beautiful remembered at the first night's feast. Professor McGonagall had unashamed tears on her face as she had spoken the Weasley twin's name, taking a moment to breathe before continuing. Yes it would be a hard year, the graying professor thought. McGonagall had pondered if any students would come back after the battle and to her surprise, more students had joined Hogwarts then ever before. It seemed many muggleborns hid during both rises of Lord Voldemort, since the muggle world was as much as a hideaway from the wizard world as it was to the muggle world.

The House of Slytherin still didn't allow muggleborns, but it didn't defer half-bloods. Even with its continued blood supremacy, most Slytherins' views on muggleborns had eased. There was still the class distinction, for the pureblood houses had existed for centuries in power. Hermione had spotted the familiar sight of blond hair so fair, it may as well have been white. Draco Malfoy's return had been a surprising one for most students that knew of him and his Death Eater family. Taunts had been thrown at the Malfoy heir before the Golden Trio had adopted him temporarily. Word had spread by the time all students had reached Hogwarts that Draco Malfoy had the approval of Harry Potter and his two best friends. It was a fact the boy hadn't missed and admittedly cherished. Draco Malfoy's mother Narcissa had insisted at his return, his final N.E.W.T.s important for the career he desired in the ministry. The young Slytherin wanted to recreate the Malfoy family's name, reshape it into something he could be proud of. He could not be proud of his father.

Harry had spent most of the summer with the Tonks' family. Nymphadora “Tonks” Lupin and Remus Lupin had barely made it out of the war alive. Andromeda, Tonks' mother, had appeared for the final battle after trusting a relative of her late husband's with Teddy. Andromeda had cast a Protego against a green flash in front of her daughter, delivered by her older sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. Of course both women stood still, seeing the other for the first time in thirty years. The familiarity in Bellatrix's cold eyes shocked Andromeda. Deranged as the sister was, moments of clarity like this also came just as often as her tantrums. Tonks had moved behind her mother at Andromeda's command, still wielding her wand tightly, aimed at her aunt.

The war hadn't been particularly kind to Bellatrix. Molly Weasley had shot a spell that should have killed her. Unbeknownst to the Order, Voldemort had trusted a piece of his soul into Bellatrix early on in the servitude of her lord. Once Bellatrix's body had turned to ash, a magical wind swept the remains outdoors. Roots broke the surface of the earth and tied around the growing wet form of ash mixed with mud. Bellatrix's form returned albeit in an impossible way. This would shock the matron of the Weasley family later on when the Order had captured Bellatrix with her consent, that action shocking anyone who noticed her submission. Andromeda watched as Bellatrix's hand fell in surrender, and the Order pounced. Black eyes closed as bodies hit her from every angle, a binding spell in effect, although unnecessary as the eldest Black sister had decided her path.

Many more surprises followed the war, but Bellatrix's surrender had been one of the biggest. One of the more childish surprises came in the form of Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood's relationship. Hermione glanced to said couple beside her, a soft smile pulling at her lips. The two were a weird pair to look at, Hermione was sure, but one must find joy after having the grueling years they'd had. Ron's voice had pulled Hermione out of her thoughts, though his pinch on her arm annoyingly aided in grabbing her attention. “What, _Ronald_?” Hermione hissed.

Ron's face soured in annoyance, but quickly transformed into a smile. “Why, _Hermione_ , I was just trying to keep you from getting lost.” Ron joked, although there was a hidden concern in his words Hermione picked up on.

Hermione softened and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I'm alright, I promise. I get wrapped up a bit sometimes, you know, but I assure you I'm present.” She promised.

Ron seemed pleased with that answer and settled back in beside her. Hermione watched as Harry admired his ornament in his hand before returning to Ginny's side by the fire. The group had found much comfort in each other's presence and drank the emotional atmosphere in heavily. Hermione watched as Harry soothed Ginny with a hand in her hair. Hermione's smile grew, although there was a heaviness in her heart that grew with it. She _wanted_ that. Hermione yearned for someone to touch her as intimately as that. Her spark with Ron had fizzled out over the summer search for her parents. They mutually agreed to remain friends and that they didn't have to be pressured to be together. Not to mention Hermione's realization of her sexuality soon after their shared kiss. Ginny had been her first crush, but it had died out once Ginny had confided in Hermione of her attraction to Harry. Besides, Hermione seemed to develop a taste for older individuals, thoughts of one taboo woman that came to mind.

On the rare occasion Hermione didn't have nightmares, she found herself infatuated with Bellatrix Lestrange and the haunting black eyes that polluted her dreamscape. It had started innocent at first, glances from the older woman that didn't hold hate, but didn't hold anything else that Hermione could tell. Then slowly, as if it had been there all along, lust and another emotion Hermione couldn't quite describe replaced the coldness. Hermione had guessed the traumatic events that had left her scarred at Malfoy Manor spurred on this hyper-sexuality with her torturer. It hadn't helped when Hermione had to testify to the the aforementioned events in front of the Wizengamot, the eyes that bore into her at the Manor had replicated its actions at the trial.

The trial itself was still a topic of great discussion to present day, even though it had taken place at the end of August, making rumors and stories surrounding it blossom for four months. With a court-ordered demand of Veritaserum, Minster Kingsley Shacklebolt and the jury were surprised to find out that Bellatrix's cruelty was exaggerated. That is not to say that Bellatrix was innocent either. She had performed heinous acts, but one enlightening fact presented itself first- the torturing of the Longbottoms. Though she was charged with being complicit in the terrible act, she wasn't at true fault of it. Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother Rasbastan had been tasked to commit the atrocities that night. Bellatrix's memory revealed her comforting an infant Neville, one might even go as far as to say that Bellatrix had felt remorse, if her facial expressions were anything to go by. Bellatrix had protected the boy that night, waiting as her husband and brother-in-law finished torturing the Longbottoms into drooling vegetables.

“ _Deception! These memories have been altered!” One jury member cried out. Murmurings floated around the room in agreement._

_Kingsley had sighed and shook his head at this_. “ _We have verified these memories under Ministry inspection. Each memory reviewed in this trial happened exactly as it will be depicted.”_

And so it was. Bellatrix Lestrange had suffered the same familial loss as Harry had, although it showed in a confusing way. Her feelings about Sirius' death had struck her as she ran out of the room soon after his death. The memory showed a stray spell hit Sirius in his center, making him stagger backwards into the shrouded void. The events that followed depicted Bellatrix escaping into the main lobby of the Ministry, chest heaving as panic settled into her heart.

_“That idiot! That blood traitor fool!” Bellatrix cursed, her eyes impossibly wide. The tears that fell from her eyes were the first shed since Andromeda's abandonment to run off with her muggleborn. Then Bellatrix cleared her face and lured Harry out, striking random parts of the building with the Bombarda spell._

Bellatrix wasn't innocent, but her memories proved she hadn't killed in earnest. She merely tortured people to the point they wished they were dead, but she was never one to deliver that release. This fact kept Bellatrix from Azkaban at the behest of Narcissa Malfoy. Even Andromeda had asked for a more lenient sentencing due to the discovery of the true nature of Bellatrix's crimes. The eldest Black sister had barely held her tongue when her sister spoke, anger filling her features. Hermione watched her curiously throughout the entire trial, but Bellatrix's eyes had never returned to her caramel ones after Hermione's own testimony. Bellatrix received the strictest sentencing possible without the threat of going to Azkaban, although violation of her trial's agreement would result in just that. Bellatrix would remain in Narcissa Malfoy's care and would be named her trustee, meaning all property and inheritance were held by Narcissa until Bellatrix's parole would be reviewed in a year's time.

Hermione remembered so many who were outraged, but in her opinion, it seemed passable. If the girl who was tortured by the infamous Death Eater could accept this outcome, she felt others should too. Hermione didn't believe in the harsh practices of Azkaban. She was elated once Kingsley promised to rid Azkaban of the dementors and announced a rehabilitation program for the convicted. Though most prisoners received life sentences, the treatment of them improved dramatically. After all, how can one expect the prisoners to come out better if they are treated as less than?

A sneer captured Hermione's attention from her left side. “I wonder what that foul git Malfoy has planned for Christmas. Ham and cobbler served with a Death Eater?” Ron spat, his glaring hotter than the fire roaring across the room.

“I don't believe that is your concern, Ronald. Let Malfoy deal with his life himself. You'd want the same respect for your privacy, wouldn't you?” Hermione asked, satisfaction filling her as Ron had the decency to bow his head in shame from her chastising.

Ron shrugged, though his gaze never left the fire. “I just can't wrap my head around the mad woman's sentencing. I thought for sure that goon would be locked up for the rest of her days.”

Hermione thought this over, examining his words with unhidden scrutiny. “I don't like knowing she has some sort of freedom either, but I also don't believe she deserves Azkaban. She's not able to use magic outside of the manor and she's under house arrest. Even Bellatrix can't break out of those wards. Tonks told me they even dug through some archives to find warding spells to keep her in.” Hermione explained, and her toned signified the ending of that conversation.

A slightly uncomfortable silence filled the room and eventually the students filtered out, leaving Hermione as the last one in the room. The dying fire reminded Hermione that it was time for bed and she stood, stretching her arms above her head. Hermione strolled over to the tree draped in Gryffindor colors and fingered her own ornament. It reminded her of the very same knife used to cut into her months and months prior. There were still some things she hadn't let go of, she knew, but something about the knife brought her comfort. Hermione held ownership over it and for her, that was enough.

With that last fleeting thought, Hermione climbed the stairs to her own private, single bed room. McGonagall had named her Head Girl and with the title came perks such as that, along with private bathrooms, infinite hall passes, and more Hermione hadn't really experienced yet but knew with time she would. Hermione entered her room and locked her door behind her, shedding her robes in exchange for a cotton nightgown. The maroon gown reached to her mid-thigh and hung loosely to her body. Crookshanks already sat upon her bed and meowed angrily at her horrible action of moving him to the side for room. Her familiar had settled against her arm, his fur tickling her but reminding her of comfort. Hermione stared at the ceiling as years of her journey replayed through her head, only stopping once heavy eyelids fell shut. For the first time in a month, Hermione dreamt of black eyes, though now they were dipped in honey and added an unfamiliar sweetness. Her dreams would be filled with the witch who had brought her so much harm before, though filled her with a completely new feeling now. Hermione wouldn't discover the warmth pooling between her legs until the following morning, and wouldn't remedy its eager desires until her private dip in the prefect's bath.


	2. Home For The Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy reviews, let me know what y'all think! :) TW: Slight torture description.

Hogwarts at Christmastime was one of Hermione's favorite time of the year. The whole winter season crooned with a ghostly orchestra and some students who had elected to study Musical Theory. It certainly brought life into the Great Hall as students gathered for last day they would spend at Hogwarts for the holidays. Hermione had packed that morning, unusual as she typically prepared a week in advance. She felt rushed but invigorated. She would get to see her parents and make up missing Christmas with them the previous year, get to relax without a sense of foreboding. Hermione would hurt over the losses she suffered along with everyone else.

Hermione approached the sturdy old bench claimed by the Gryffindors, swinging one leg over it and sitting. “What plans do you have with the Tonks, Harry?” Hermione asked, her eyes distracted by the morning's breakfast. There was a bowl of porridge with chopped blueberries and chocolate shavings in front of her, cinnamon flakes peppering the meal. It was interesting to her, she thought, that the magic that prepared this food understood each student's preferences after attending for so long. It also offered new additions weekly, allowing those students to experiment with their palates. _Magical and wonderful indeed_ , Hermione thought.

“Andy and I are planning on visiting the shops this week. She said she had some last minute shopping to do.” Harry grinned, excited at the prospect of spending time with the family who took him in.

“That's brilliant, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. A smile adorned her face so beautifully, evidently her good mood was rubbing off as the students surrounding her adopted the same expression.

Ron nodded in agreement. He was a little reserved in the mornings, unsurprisingly hard to wake up as Harry was just announcing. “I had a late night! Professor Slughorn gave me detention for that mess I made in his class. I don't even see why I should have to retake it this year!” Ron whined.

“If you weren't staring at Lisa Turpin while I was reading the instructions, maybe you wouldn't have deserved a night out in the forest.” Harry laughed. Harry felt relieved more than anything else. If it weren't for Slughorn's clear favoritism, one might believe he would've easily joined Ron out in the Forbidden Forest.

Speaking of said forest, Hermione's mind wandered. Dark creatures that had fought alongside Voldemort returned to the forest. Perhaps an unexpected turn of events came in the form of the creatures turning on everyone. They had no allegiance and only wished to protect their land. Whatever power Voldemort thought he had over them, he greatly overestimated. For this reason, Kingsley allowed the remaining creatures to return to the Forbidden Forest much to the surprise of Hermione. She imagined the Ministry would have used their participation in the war as a bargaining chips in the everlasting negotiations with various creatures. Hermione expressed this concern to Kingsley who in turn said, “If we were to fault everyone who we claimed to have had a part, my hands themselves would be rather dirty. As would yours. There is no good or bad, Hermione. Even right and wrong can be hard to decipher, as everyone has their own opinion over morals. Thus I have came to the conclusion that balance must be struck between the two, as well as acceptance that the most unsavory parts of your personality are there.”

“...collecting herbs. I can barely tell the difference between gillyweed and moss kelp!” Ron's voice penetrated her thoughts, immediately interrupting their reflection.

_Does he not pay attention in Herbology_? Hermione thought. “Moss kelp can only be found in natural sea caverns in the North Sea. You find a deep body of water like a lake or even some rivers and you'll find gillyweed.” Hermione said with a sigh. Ginny's entrance returned Hermione to her previous mood, greeting the red-headed girl with a smile. “And how was your rest, Ginny?” Hermione politely inquired.

“Slept like the dead.” Ginny replied easily, smiling back. Neville and Luna followed behind and joined them at the table. Students usually stuck to their House's tables but mornings were more relaxed. “And you, Hermione?”

Hermione shrugged. Despite her lack of nightmares and excess of lewd dreams, she hadn't slept too well. “Fine enough.” Hermione murmured, pretending not to notice her friends glancing to each other.

As the rest fell into a change of subject, discussing the special Quidditch event that excited the wizarding world, Ginny's hand found Hermione's under the table and gave it a light squeeze. Hermione inwardly sighed at this and felt the stress from her shoulders fall. “You can talk to me about anything, 'Mione. You know that, don't you?” Ginny whispered, but its intended had heard her. Hermione managed a small nod before taking a bite of her porridge. It tasted exactly how she expected it to, having been served it many times before, but it was nothing less than exemplary.

Luna's excited squeal drew her attention. “I can't believe they have Nott Berry apples! These are so hard to come by!”

Hermione looked at the basket on display in front of Luna. She picked up the dark purple apple and examined it, vaguely remembering its mentioning in a book she had read. “Nott Berry, you say? It's one of the few apple varieties that grow in the winter. Luna is right, they're extremely hard come by. Less expensive than a phoenix feather, but more than a few galleons.” Hermione remarked. Each student seemed eager to try the delicacy, a resounding note of approval coming from Neville himself.

“Blimey, that's awfully good isn't it?” Neville praised, grabbing another from the basket. Everyone nodded in agreement, too busy to verbally reply as their mouths assaulted the tender fruit of the Nott Berry apples. Hermione reflected on the taste of the apple, such a sweet, bold taste with an underwhelming tartness. The flavors complemented each other so deliciously, Hermione thought.

Even for a morning, the Great Hall didn't have many students attending breakfast. In fact, shortly after the group finished, they all boarded the train back to Platform 9 and ¾. Hermione promised to write over the holidays and agreed to join the others at the Weasley's Christmas dinner on the 25th, only a week's time from now. She would be quite eager to visit the shops that littered Diagon Alley, but more pressing matters appeared in front of her once she stepped off the train. Hermione's mother and father swept their daughter into a hug, so much said in such a simple embrace. She fought but quickly lost the ability to dry her tears, silently wetting her parents' coats. “We've missed you so much, my princess.” Her mother wailed. Hermione should've expected that. Her parents were understandably much more emotional once returning home to England. Her mother Jean was especially fragile.

They broke the embrace and Hermione took in her parents fully, as if seeing them again for the first time. After a year's absence, she decided she'd spend as much time as she could with them. They both wore tired smiles, clearly aged so much in such little time, possibly partly due to the powerful spell that was used on them. Yet another reminder of what Hermione had to sacrifice, and what she had forced her parents to sacrifice. Hermione felt the guilt ebb at her but pressed her lips into a smile, although it did nothing to quell the nausea in her stomach. “I've missed you both loads.” Hermione replied, squeezing her mother's shoulder lovingly.

The Grangers departed King's Cross Station to Danbury, located in Essex. Hermione's childhood village felt overwhelmingly small, suffocating seemed to be an appropriate word to describe how she felt returning. Hermione remembered running barefoot on the surrounding hills with a group of girls. Her heart ached before soothing itself at the reminder that though she hadn't grown up with her childhood friends, Hermione had been introduced to an amazing world that made it hard to truly regret it. There was one girl Hermione regularly kept in contact with, through texting and visiting whilst at home and in letters during her time at Hogwarts. The girl's name was Susan Brenwell, her hair the same color as wet sand. Hermione had written to her a few days before her departure from Hogwarts that she'd be returning home. Susan had been delighted, Hermione could tell, in the her responding letter.

Being dentists, her parents did not have a lack of wealth. Hermione's vault at Gringotts boasted a small fortune of her own, rivaling that of a common pureblood's though not one as old and prestigious as one might find of the House of Black's vaults. Hermione's childhood home had ivy curls decorating the windows, stretching across each stone wall. The ivy hadn't been a previous fixture of the home, but once the family had returned from their trip from Brisbane, they simply enjoyed it too much to rid it completely. Hedges hid under the main floor's windows, properly trimmed thanks to Gerald Granger's own hand. Hermione supposed he needed another hobby to distract him.

The car shut off once pulled into the driveway of the Grangers' home, stirring Hermione from her thoughts. She had hardly heard her father's words until his laugh rang through the small space of the automobile. “Hermione, are you with us?” Her father asked. Hermione nodded sheepishly to which her father offered her another laugh before she rolled out of the car. Hermione dragged her trunk out of the car's boot and carried it up the stairs of the split-level house. Her room laid at the end of the second story hallway, which itself was grand in a posh way. Hermione turned her doorknob and took in the sight of her room, the one place she had to be completely herself. Hermione didn't have to worry about a first-year knocking at her door in the middle of the night, didn't have to worry about facing some of the slurs still thrown at her on a rare occasion. Her arm pulsed at this thought and her fingers wrapped around it subconsciously.

_Mudblood_. Sometimes the word lost its meaning to Hermione, having suffered its viciousness enough over the years. Though other times, it felt as hurtful as the first time it had been flung her way. Hermione's room was a light shade of blue, akin to what one would imagine early on-set frostbite might look like. Black sheer curtains hung on the three windows of her room. Her four poster bed sat proudly against the back wall, a painting of a straggle of kittens under a willow Nott Berry tree. Hermione's slender fingers reached into her shoulder-hung book bag, drawing out a Nott Berry apple wrapped in a red picnic towel she had taken earlier. She sat the apple on her dresser and began to unpack her clothes. She still had clothes here, but she wanted to bring her winter clothes with her. Most of the clothes at her muggle home held summer and spring attire. Her eyes scanned her own appearance, Molly Weasley's voice tsking in her ears. Her lilac jacket clung loosely to her frame, her body almost invisible against it. Hermione had trouble eating most days, but she wouldn't eat less than at least one full meal and a snack. She needed to remind herself to try to eat more. Maybe that is why she took the extra apple for herself anyways. Her once wild, now somewhat tamed hair fell a little past her shoulders. She wanted to grow it out after the battle, having her hair short at the time for it to be harder to get snatched. It seemed healthy enough at the moment and she slowly pulled back her jacket sleeve, the next interest that occupied her thoughts.

Hermione could remember the sawing, the throbbing of the cuts. The 'M' had been the worst cut. Deep and angry, they were the darkest scars. The letters slowly got lighter, as if its assailant realized what it was doing and fought to stop its motions, though each letter was still pronounced. There would be no mistake in what the word was, no denying its supremacy, its hatred. What did not make sense to Hermione was her own feelings regarding the carving. Though it sometimes hurt to the point of insanity that her thoughts would stray dangerously to even perhaps cutting her appendage off, most of the time it remained dormant and it gave her thoughts of her torturer. Hermione decided that the Black sister was still torturing her, haunting her dreams, her nightmares, her fingers. They were all one in the same, really. Hermione went to her bathroom, privately added on to her bedroom. She freshened up and took some deep breaths, forcing her mind to go blank. Crookshanks rubbed along her legs and meowed, ready for Hermione to set up his feeding station. Hermione's lips pulled up at the ends and she rolled her eyes, picking up Crookshanks.

“Oh, Crookshanks!” Hermione admonished. “We've been here for less than ten minutes and you're already crying about bloody food!”

Crookshanks only huffed in response, his eyes narrowing at her. She held him still as she traveled downstairs, searching the pantry for his favorite muggle brand wet food. Hermione twisted the metal tab back and emptied its contents into a small bowl in the kitchen. She poured fresh water into its twin bowl next to it and watched as Crookshanks devoured it.

“There you go, you wretch.” Hermione lightly scolded, though a playful smile betrayed her words.

Hermione sought out the landline hung upon the wall, dialing her childhood friend Susan. Once they agreed to meet at Susan's house, Hermione left to do just that but not without saying goodbyes to her parents. Hermione slipped her hands into her jacket's pockets, her head angled down to the ground as she focused on clearing her mind. She kept slipping back to a certain witch. Her legs took her down the street and onto another heading north, she noted, subconsciously remembering the roads she knew as a child. Before she was thrown into a world that held as much disdain for her as it did respect. It was a few more houses down that Hermione's eyes saw Susan's figure resting in a porch swing near her home. Hermione sprinted towards the girl, as did Susan, their bodies colliding with laughter filling the air around them. Her brown eyes met a similar sight, although Susan's eyes were lighter. Her hands cupped Susan's jaw in a soft manner, and she watched as Susan's lips smiled at her. Hermione still watched them as they formed the words, “You look as beautiful as ever.”

A blush filled Hermione's face. “It's been too long, Susan.” Hermione spoke, her thumbs stroking the flesh of Susan's cheeks.

“Much too long.” Susan agreed. She pulled Hermione closer and inhaled, releasing the sigh but not without holding a tight embrace for a moment more. Once they split apart, they returned to where Hermione first saw her on the swing. Hermione sat next to her and tucked her legs under her, hooking her arm around Susan's. “How has that private school of yours been? I still can't believe _you_ had to repeat a year.” Susan huffed, her hand cupping Hermione's.

Hermione loved the gesture, her body relaxing into its old comfort of being beside Susan. “I told you that would've been a possibility for going on that trip with my parents for the year. They don't accept that as academic credit.” Hermione lied easily. She hated that she had to lie to her friend but it was frowned upon telling muggles about magic, illegal in most cases.

“That's not fair! Especially when you scores so high on your exams.” Susan pouted, jutting out her lip. Hermione cooed at this and laughed at the blush spreading on Susan's face. “What?! It's not as though you're a poor student. I just miss having you around and this is another year we're apart, you know?”

Susan's voice sounded so soft and a little hurt, Hermione noticed. Hermione's hand reached for Susan's hair and lost her fingers in its soothing motion. “I know, I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” Hermione murmured, and to her surprise Susan shook her head.

“It's not your fault. Your bloody school and all.” Susan sniffed, calming under Hermione's touch.

The girls swung in silence, both enjoying the other's company more than the other would ever know. There was something about Susan that Hermione liked, her brash attitude, her undying loyalty. It reminded her of the woman that made reoccurring appearances in her every waking (and sleeping) moment. Her lips curled into a frown at this thought and shoved it away. Susan's head rested upon Hermione's shoulder and her eyes were shut, as if the simple presence of Hermione relaxed her enough to fall asleep. Susan blinked awake a few moments more, chasing the sleep away with each open and shut of her eyes. The two stood from their position, sorely missing the comfort before heading into Susan's home. It was similar to Hermione's and it made sense, since Susan's mother was involved in something else in the medical field. _A doctor perhaps?_ Hermione questioned. She would remember to inquire later.

Susan led Hermione through a familiar foyer, the latter girl smiling at pictures of her family hung up on display in the family home. Hermione attended the father's funeral just a few months shy of her intended departure to Hogwarts for her first year. She hated leaving the girl when she needed Hermione most, but she lettered to Susan often, confiding in her troubles at Hogwarts. Censored for obvious reasons. Susan's heels clacked across the linoleum in a demanding fashion. The muggle girl had presence, she had _power_ in a room. That also reminded Hermione of the woman at the back of her mind.

The pair stopped in the kitchen and Hermione took a seat at the kitchen island, watching Susan prepare a meal for them. The kitchen held several plants, from the kitchen counter to ceiling-hung bowls. Hermione always loved this room the most. She wanted a kitchen like it some day. “So, Hermione...” Susan trailed off, a mischievous smirk replacing her delicate smile. “Have you found someone to warm your bed with yet?” She asked, handing Hermione a fresh cup of tea.

Hermione choked on the liquid, droplets rolling down the wrong airway. “Must you be so crass?” Hermione spluttered, taking the napkin Susan offered and coughed into it.

“You're so naive, Hermione, so innocent.” Susan teased, chopping up some onions along with various other vegetables. Spaghetti had always been a tradition in the Brenwell family, mainly because it was the fastest meal Susan's mother could make in the short time she had when she was home. Therefore, it became a tradition when Hermione joined them for dinner.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “I'm not innocent. I just haven't met anyone who has made an impression.”

Susan scoffed at this but remained silent, the playful smile she had on irritating Hermione. It wasn't a lie, no one had truly captured her attention. Victor Krum and Hermione hadn't gone past the Yule Ball, nor had Ron and Hermione gone past the kiss they shared in the Chamber of Secrets. But she wasn't innocent. She had shared more than one passionate kiss with a closeted Ravenclaw who was in her 7th year while Hermione was in her 5th year. It never went further than a shy grope here and there. Hermione wasn't sure what category she would put Bellatrix Lestrange in. The powerful witch impressed her, horrified her, disgusted her, amazed her. She could not think one positive thought without thinking a negative and vice versa. Her obsession with Bellatrix leaned towards more as a girlish crush. Azkaban hadn't destroyed Bellatrix's beauty, which surprised a lot of witches and wizards who had the unfortunate luck to cross paths with the woman. Hermione remember the black ringlets that tickled her face the day Bellatrix, the scent of anxious sweat and ashy peppermint that penetrated the air. She remembered the cackling, the screaming that came from none other than herself. She thought she would never stop screaming.

Hermione shut her eyes and furrowed her brows, desperately chasing away her thoughts. She grounded herself to be here with Susan. The girls ate dinner and recounted both of their memories of school, laughing about the silliest of things. Darkness soon settled on the town of Danbury and Hermione said her goodbyes, promising to see the girl at least one more time before she returned to school. Hermione inhaled the winter air, its staleness sticking to her lungs. She reflected on where she was a year ago, in Godric's Hallow with Harry. Feelings of anger still laced those particular memories, remembering how Ron had abandoned them. Hermione knew Harry struggled with forgiveness too, unbeknownst to Ron. It hurt them that he had left so easily, knowing that their mission was the one thing that stood between Voldemort and his climb to power. The battle had many confusing feelings on it and Hermione knew she should seek a therapist, even if it were just a muggle doctor. If she visited a wizarding clinic, they would know exactly who she was. Fame didn't come easy to the muggle-born, although it was nice to finally be acknowledged. People treated her better, even most purebloods.

The lights were off at the Granger household and Hermione turned her key inside the locked door. She shut the door and locked it behind her, ascending the stairs with light feet. Exhaustion had hit her for the first time that day. Hermione never really felt how much she wore herself out until she was going to bed. The Gryffindor shed her clothes and tossed them in the laundry basket, pulling on a sweater she had received from the Weasleys one year and pajama shorts. Hermione climbed into bed and snaked an arm around Crookshanks, hugging him to her. Sleep came easily to Hermione that night and her raven-haired crush paraded through her dreams once morel only this time, Hermione slept the best she had since before the hunt for the horcruxes.

The next few days passed with a blur. The Grangers visited extended family and held their own celebration, knowing that Hermione already had plans in advance with the Weasley family on Christmas. Any mail Hermione had accumulated she had sent to the regional owlery in Diagon Alley. Before the holidays, Hermione decided to take a break from letters, only writing those she wanted to as oppose to reading each and every fan letter. It shocked her, and surely she thought shocked the boys too, just how far their reach was. Letters from eastern Europe and even parts of Asia reached the trio, although most of the time it was delivered to the Order first before passed onto them. When Hermione checked her mail, thankfully there wasn't any fan mail this time, but instead an unmistakable Slytherin green envelope.

The envelope in question held Malfoy's emblem stamped in wax, along with the House of Black's stamp as well. _Interesting,_ Hermione thought. Her fingers tenderly felt along the ridges of the Black House emblem, her face turning into a frown as she had to break the seal. A white note card slipped out and Hermione opened it, her expression unreadable to passersby.

_It is with great honor that the House of Malfoy and the House of Black celebrate the New Year with an extending invitation to Hermione Jean Granger._

_Our Houses will hold a ball in honour of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger. In further gratitude, we propose a stay for your patronage at the Malfoy home in the days following Christmas. You are allowed to stay from the 25_ _th_ _until January 6_ _th_ _._

_Please RSVP in person or by owl before Christmas, in order for the House to prepare for its guests._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy Narcissa Black Andromeda Black Bellatrix Black_

Hermione's eyes lingered on Bellatrix's signature, her heartbeat quickening. The envelope felt odd in her hand now, the carving on her arm pulsing, though not in its typical harmful way. Hermione wondered if the boys received the same letter. _Obviously_ , Hermione shook the thought from her head. _They're holding the ball in their honour as well._

Hermione collected the rest of the mail her friends had sent and quickly wrote replies, asking Ron and Harry whether or not they would be attending. She stepped from the owlery with the invitation delicately slipped into her book bag. As Hermione strolled down Diagon Alley which at this time of year, hosted many witches and wizards for some last minute shopping. Hermione found two Christmas sweaters for her parents, the gaudy reindeer head on one and its rear end on the other sweater. She thought it was charming albeit in an ugly fashion. A small smile pulled at her lips as soon as she entered Ollivander's Wand shop. Hermione examined the different wand cleaning and care kits his shop offered, choosing one that included a sample of various products then paid and left. The bushy-haired girl continued her holiday shopping and was satisfied by the end of her hunt. Hermione hardly noticed the dwindling number of patrons that loitered the street as she neared Knockturn Alley. The same shop Hermione purchased her Christmas ornament at sat open, a few faces she recognized giving business to the glum store.

As Hermione entered the shop, her interest called her from the back. Hundreds of books sat on the shelf and many Hermione had never even heard of announced their titles to her eyes. Hermione pulled one particularly dusty book from the shelf and thumbed the cover, reading _The Twenty-Eight Pureblood Family and Their Lineage_. Hermione was only slightly surprised seeing Bellatrix in the same family tree as Andromeda Tonks. If it were up to Bellatrix, Hermione thought she'd burn her from this book much like Andromeda had been burnt from Sirius' tapestry that hung in Grimmauld Place. Her eyes lingered over each of the Black sisters faces, humming to herself. It amazed her how much Andromeda and Bellatrix truly looked alike. Of course, it was hard to see the resemblance when one sister treated her with such respect and tenderness and the other with such harsh hatred and disgust.

Returning the book to its designated spot, Hermione continued her unknown search. The shop drew her in and there was something waiting to present itself to the girl. Then Hermione spotted it. A necklace laid on a table filled with various other treasures, although none that delighted Hermione as much as the aforementioned necklace. It held green jewels in the middle, the largest gem in the middle and two adjacent to either side of it. The golden chain it was attached appeared like the twisting roots of a tree. Matching earrings peeked shyly from behind a mountain of items. These green gems were made into the shape of a square. Hermione had never been one for accessories, the only notable time she had worn any real jewelry would have been her Yule Ball, but something drew her to the beautiful accessories. The brunette made the decision to purchase the items. The shop keeper gave her a weird look as he carefully placed the items in a small paper bag. Hermione left the shop a bit confused to the reaction, but shoved it from her mind. Or rather had it shoved from her mind when her body collided with another.

Andromeda Tonks grunted out a 'sorry' before realizing who she had knocked into. Her fingers wrapped securely around Hermione's slim shoulders, ensuring that she didn't completely knock her over. The two women stared at each other for what seemed like an impossible amount of time. Hermione was the first to break the silent staring contest with a quiet clearing of her throat. A blush filled her features to which she earned an unexpected smirk from the former Black sister. “My apologies, Hermione. Had I been watching where I was going, I wouldn't have nearly knocked your head off.” Andromeda murmured, her hold on Hermione slacking when the girl regained her balance.

“It's quite alright, Mrs. Tonks.” Hermione dismissed, although the name felt wrong on her tongue. She recalled the envelope from earlier. “Or rather Ms. Black?” Hermione asked aloud, her curiosity trumping any politeness.

The smirk never left Andromeda's lips. “I take it you've received our invitation then?”

Hermione paused. She could have denied it or possibly refused to go, politely of course. However, Hermione only nodded at this.

“Have you made a decision then?” Andromeda wondered. Andromeda did not hold a lot of hope when it came time to write Hermione's invitation. Hermione might've had more reason to hate her family than herself, or even Ron or Harry.

The muggle-born shook her head and gripped her bag, almost forgetting the purchase she had just made. It seemed her body had already chosen, for Hermione planned on wearing the accessories to the ball in question. “I'm not sure if I am actually wanted.” Hermione spoke after a moment's reflection. An unannounced tension hovered between the women and Andromeda's features contorted into one of pity. Possibly shame.

“I assure you my sister, my nephew, and I all would love for you to come.” Andromeda promised, her hand reaching for Hermione's.

“There was a fourth signature on the invitation.”

Hermione's words fell flat in the air. Andromeda narrowed her eyes at the statement. Of course she had slid the envelope under the door in which the sisters kept their eldest in, hoping that Bellatrix would sign it as a manner of goodwill. When the note card returned without a signature, Andromeda had let out a sigh.

“All the more reason you should attend. I can promise to keep you away from her all night if it meant you'd at least come the ball. You do not have to spend any time with my family. It was merely the least we could offer you.” Andromeda explained, her thumb caressing the back of Hermione's hand. “Though I must admit I thought my sister hadn't signed her name. May I see the envelope?” Andromeda inquired.

If Hermione was curious about Andromeda's statement, she didn't verbally express it. Andromeda read over the handwritten card and frowned when it appeared exactly as it had when she sent it. “And you saw the signature where?” Andromeda asked.

“Here.” Hermione pointed to a blank spot.

“Interesting. My sister failed to tell me she bewitched my invitation. I can't see her signature.” Andromeda admitted, her shoulders tense as she began to picture her confrontation once she returned home.

Hermione watched the older woman with a great curiosity, although now she felt bad for her. Andromeda seemed, for lack of better words, frustrated. Hermione wanted to remedy that. “I was leaning towards attending anyways. I'm not sure about staying at the manor though.” Hermione said, an apology hidden in her words. Hermione was sure they'd accommodate her every need, but to spend time in where her true torturing took place? Hermione was strong, but even the strongest would avoid the places they were hurt the most. The young witch watched as Andromeda's lips split apart to reveal the most bedazzling smile Hermione had seen to date, almost momentarily blinding the girl.

“Thank you, Hermione. My family will be elated to hear the news. We will ready you a room anyways. It's not as though we have many guests staying with us anyways. I must go now though, urgent Christmas matters to attend to. Speaking of which, Happy Christmas!” Andromeda purred, squeezing Hermione's hand and slipping past her into the shop. Hermione buzzed from pure serotonin, her heart thumping traitorously in her chest. The girl apparated back to the Granger house and that was when her true work began. She wrapped boxes upon boxes of presents, written handmade notes, and by the time she was done, Hermione's mother had called her down for dinner.

The family spent a peaceful night enjoying each other's company. Laughter encased the room and Hermione was surprised to find out her laughter joined in as well. Hermione had brought down the presents she bought her parents that day, them admiring the reindeer's rear end on her father's sweater. “Is this your subtle way of calling me a horse's ass?” Her father teased. Hermione could only smile at him and shook her head. Her mother piled the dirty plates from the table and pecked the top of Hermione's head as she passed by, signaling sleep for the family.

“What would you guys think about me spending the rest of the holidays with a friend” You see, I was invited to this ball and-” Hermione started, but was soon cutoff by her mother's voice.

“Don't let us keep you from living your life. You're old enough to make your own decisions.” Jean started, her hands resting on Gerald's shoulders.

Her father nodded. “A ball? Sounds fancy. Do you need a dress?” Gerald asked.

Hermione gaped at her mother. This was a stark contrast from the woman who had previously chastised her at fifteen years old for watching a PG-13 movie. “Really? I just didn't want to disappoint you both by leaving early.” Hermione said in disbelief.

“You've never disappointed us, Hermione. And yes, really. I want you to enjoy the full experience of this life you've been given. You've seen too much of its unpleasantness.” Jean spoke, crossing the room to hold her daughter's face in her hands. “Besides, you were already leaving us to spend time with that Weasley boy.” Jean winked.

An innocent blush hit Hermione, although it wasn't for the reason her mother might imagine. “Alright then, I'll go. Mum, I am not the least bit interested in Ron. There just isn't a spark there.” Hermione admitted. It was a shame, really. Her parents probably would've been charmed by Ron's immaturity, though he had a good way of presenting himself to strangers.

She paused then groaned. “A dress! I completely forgot about it.” Hermione whined.

“No need to worry. I'm sure you could find something in the shops, but you better go tomorrow. You leave the day after and I'm sure even wizarding shops close for Christmas too.” Her father quipped.

And so that's exactly what Hermione did. The next day, Hermione found herself in Twilfitt and Tattings, an upper-class wizarding robe shop in Diagon Alley. Hermione felt out of place but the storekeeper's endless praise of the third member of the Golden Trio eased her tension. One particular dress caught her attention. Silver constellations stretched over a navy blue tulle skirt, the top portion of the dress would cover part of her arms, but would never quite reach her shoulders. The plunging neckline was deep but would never strike an onlooker as whorish. It was the perfect blend of modesty and temptation. Hermione had been unable to peel her eyes from it, the seamstress noticed, who then cast a wandless spell to trade Hermione's clothes with it. Hermione gasped as she stared into the mirror, the dress hugging her in all of the right places, thanks to the seamstress' improvements.

“Are you a Veela?” One store employee asked, a dreamy look on her face.

Hermione could only respond with a heated blush, humbled by the compliment. “I could trace back my lineage to be sure, but I'm confident I have no Veela blood in me.”

The woman made a noise that sounded like she disagreed, but the seamstress quickly shooed her away. “Don't mind her, lassie. She's never been one to hold her tongue although she did have a point, didn't she? That dress was _made_ to be worn by you.”

The compliment did nothing to stop Hermione's pulsating heartbeat, her ego inflating impossibly huge. She only nodded politely and gestured to check out, pulling on her robes once more. The seamstress placed a plastic bag over the dress, along with muttering some enchantments for added protection. This was the nicest thing Hermione had ever purchased for herself and it felt good. It felt deserving. For all the suffering she had endured, a treat as nice as this had lifted her spirits so high, she smiled at each passerby.

Hermione returned home and showed her parents the dress at their behest. Hermione's blood failed to leave her face since her parents had a very similar reaction to the shop's employee. The Grangers spent the last of their time together on the couch, watching a Disney movie that had recently come out. Her mother was the first to fall asleep and Hermione stood, a soft smile hanging on her lips as she observed her parents. She made to leave but not before her father called after her. “We love you beyond words, 'Mione. Never forget that.”

“I love you both too.” Hermione had simply replied, although his words soothed her ever troubled heart.

It was odd how clear her mind felt since she was home. Her childhood memories had seem so distant when she arrived, but now they stuck presently to the forefront of her mind. Even Bellatrix had taken a major backseat in her mind, although not always. Hermione traced the Black emblem for the millionth time, thoughts pouring and rolling over each other in her mind. Her trunk was finished in terms of packing, the accessories and dress packed delicately. She sat on the windowsill, staring out over the trees that blended into the night's darkness. With the ball as the last thing on her mind, Hermione returned to her bed to sleep. Again, she slept better than she had in months.

Though she never believed in the notion, it seemed beauty sleep existed purely for Hermione. The bags under her eyes disappeared and although she had only been with her parents for a short time, her face seemed fuller and her figure not as scrawny. It was something Susan pointed out the next morning, holding Hermione to her promise to see her right before she'd left. The Grangers' breakfast was delicious but short, as her parents had to return to work even though it was Christmas Eve. Hermione walked Susan to the door and felt her friend's arms snake around her waist. “Promise to write me.” Susan asked, although it felt more like a statement.

“Of course, Suzy.” Hermione softly responded. She pretended to not notice to blush creeping on her friend's face.

“Yes well...” Susan trailed off, clearing her throat and not meeting Hermione's eyes. The loss of her friend's arms around her only soothed her when Susan's hands held hers. “I'll see you once school is over and we can spend so much time making up for these lost years.”

Hermione's heart thudded in her chest. Susan looked so vulnerable, so innocent. _And yet she called me the innocent one_ , Hermione thought. She almost felt bad, but she remembered her thoughts from her first day back to Danbury. Hermione couldn't find it in herself to regret the world she had came to learn and love. “Of course. I'll write you when I get settled.” Hermione promised, and with that, Susan took off towards her home. Hermione said similar goodbyes to her parents, although their embraces lasted a little longer. As Hermione ascended the stairs for the final time for a while, she remembered the Nott Berry apple on her dresser. She slipped it into her trunk and held Crookshanks as she apparated to the Burrow. The familiar sight of where she spent many halves of her summers here warmed Hermione. It was her second home, the only home she prepared herself to return to after the battle. As she neared the Weasleys' home, she could hear Harry's own laughter. Hermione stopped and smiled as she rested her hand on the doorknob, drinking it in. Harry hadn't laughed like that in so long, or at least not in front of Hermione. When she turned the knob, her friends happily pulled her in to join in on the yearly tradition of spiked holiday drinks and storytelling. It wasn't until Hermione met dark brown eyes that she realized Andromeda had also been invited. Those particular set of eyes found hers and sent a wink her way, resulting in a maiden's blush for Hermione. Her attention turned to the younger Tonks, perhaps the only Tonks now since Andromeda reclaimed the Black name.

“It's good to see you, Hermione. Teddy was missing his other godparent.” Tonks teased, holding her baby boy in his arms who seemed infatuated with Hermione. If his tight fists around her curls were any indication. Hermione let out a yelp which seemed to be hilarious to onlookers, gently trying to retrieve her hair from the infant's grasp.

“I see he was.” Hermione drawled, allowing Molly to take her luggage up to the room she'd be sharing with Ginny. Hermione kissed the top of his head and found herself sitting between Harry and Ron who slung their arms around her.

Hermione settled and drank in the atmosphere around her, peace filling her. There was something about shared trauma, about the boys around her who went through a lot of similar troubles as she did, that eased her. It made her feel human. It made Hermione feel like it had all been worth it.

The Weasley family knew how to celebrate the holidays. As hours passed and day descended into dusk, the real peak of the party started to unfold. Andromeda was occupied with her grandchild, much to her daughter's delight. Tonks threw back her first shot of Firewhisky and groaned, shaking her head in disgust. “Horrible.” Tonks said simply.

Though Hermione wasn't much of a drinker either, she participated for the first time without guilt. Hermione had tried Firewhisky before and it lapped pleasantly at her tongue, although after a while, it went down harder and harder. It wasn't until a strong hand removed the bottle from the table shared by Ginny, Tonks, Hermione, Ron, Harry, and George that they finished drinking. Each youth was plastered, some more than others. Andromeda's familiar smirk returned as she ushered each member up the stairs. Hermione was left with Tonks and Remus, the latter who had remained sober although there was a twinkle in his eye. “What a way to end a night.” Remus chuckled, stroking the short, scraggly beard he had grown out. He looked healthier, Hermione noted.

“Thank God she intervened or I'm sure tomorrow morning I'd be hurling rather than unwrapping presents.” Hermione slurred, a sour feeling already gathering in her stomach. Andromeda returned and slipped Teddy into his father's arms, offering a hand out to Hermione. “I don't want to go to bed.” Hermione pouted.

“Come now, child. You have time to get drunk with my daughter later.” Andromeda said sternly, although amusement wasn't hidden the least bit.

Hermione sighed and decided to abide by her request, taking the soft hand in hers and following the older witch up the stairs. Andromeda slowed before approaching Ginny's door, seemingly lost in thought and struggled to find the words she so obviously wanted to spill to Hermione. The young witch stared at Andromeda, examining the beauty in front of her. Hermione felt her face flush, though whether it was from the ogling or the alcohol, she didn't know.

“Thank you for coming. You know, to my family's ball.” Andromeda's voiced pull Hermione from her thoughts. “You still have time to refuse. We will understand.”

There was something about Andromeda's words that made Hermione hurt for the woman. She seemed upset with herself. “All in the past. If I were to hold that against you, I'm sure you could find something to hold against me.” Hermione murmured, remembering her conversation with Minister Shacklebolt.

Andromeda seemed surprised at this admission but said nothing further, instead pressing her lips to Hermione's forehead in a gesture of thanks. The older woman departed wordlessly and Hermione found herself missing her company. Not for too long though, since she entered Ginny's room and fell into bed beside the Weasley girl. A smile remained etched on her face as her fingers touched where Andromeda's lips touched, heat blossoming throughout her body. Sleep came easily to the Granger girl that night, and her mind had emptied itself into nothing but dreams of her times at Hogwarts. The good ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the inspiration behind Hermione's ballgown :) https://www.milanoo.com/p848104.html?Promotion=usaggbase¤cy=USD#C501S469


	3. The Boundaries That Fall Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione arrives at Malfoy Manor and finds familiar faces there, of course. I do not have a Beta so all mistakes are mine.

Understanding one's behavior when faced with awkward silences was not Ron Weasley's forte, and the Burrow's current inhabitants found themselves left in silence quite often. One such silence occurred when the family and guests aligned then sat in a circle, preparing to open their gifts. Fred's absence was a sore reminder when it came time for the pairless twin to open his presents. No one seemed willing to meet another's gaze, until a voice forced them all to acknowledge it. “I think Fred would have been proud of us.” Ginny's soft voice murmured, almost inaudible if she hadn't spoken during its thick silence.

“I think so too. He was a brave-” Remus choked. “A brave boy.” Remus seemed too sober, too engaged with the painful present. Of course, everyone in the room was forced to feel this too. “A boy who didn't have to be a soldier, though admittedly brave in his own choice to become one. A true Gryffindor.”

“A true-”

“A true Gryf-”

“A true Gryffindor!”

Several voices rang out in agreement, in praise of the fallen Weasley. Everyone had someone personal to scream for too. Hermione's wet eyes met familiar black eyes, no brown, for that was apart of the witch's subtle difference between her elder sister. In that visible exchange, emotions swirled and flickered viciously. Andromeda appeared, for what Hermione considered the first time she thought this, much older than her actual age. Something about loss gave one a wicked exchange in the gaining of years in the wrinkles of one's skin. Andromeda's face was mostly smooth, save for the lines that appeared when the older witch furrowed her eyebrows. That was the expression she was wearing as she stared at Hermione and it made the young witch's heart flop, almost making her move across the room as if only a tight embrace would somehow fix Andromeda's every pain. Something kept Hermione in her seat though, whether it had been the inappropriate nature to do so in front of the others or just the inappropriate nature to do anything at the moment when everyone was still.

The subject was changed when the remaining Weasley twin opened a gift, a series of small fireworks popping and painting the boy's hands blue. Tonks had a glint in her eyes that Hermione could only suspect as mischief indeed. Apparently that was the right course of action for George's eyes lit up, his lips curled in that beloved grin. “Tonksy, you've been busy have you?” George inquired, laughing as his fingers dug through such...creative items only made possible by the brilliant mind of Nymphadora Tonks.

The metamorphmagus bewitched her hair, turning it a Weasley ginger shade. “Us Weasleys think alike no?” Tonks jested. Tonks earned the laughter that followed, standing as George made his way over to roughhouse with her. The pair tussled and fell backwards across a storage chest in the middle of the room, much to the groaning of the matron of the house.

“George Weasley, you will _not_ be setting this house on fire again!” Molly Weasley hissed, to which George flinched at.

The memory of a few Christmases before, when Dumbledore was alive Hermione recalled, where Fred had gifted George a charmed fireball that acted as some type of pocket-sized pet. Hermione giggled as she remembered the heated glare from the Weasley matriarch gave her twin boys. Andromeda's previous frown turned into a beautiful smile which made Hermione feel as though her heart could simply cease to beat. After so many had opened their gifts, Hermione pleased that so far everyone had enjoyed picks, it was her turn. Hermione delicately removed the wrapper from a medium-sized box and pulled out a new sweater made none other than by Molly Weasley herself. But for the first time, Molly stitched a red and gold sweater as opposed to the seasonal red and green. A regal lion posed in the center of the striped garment, the stripes broken to fit the form of it. “Oh thank you, Molly! You haven't lost your touch one bit!” Hermione praised, instantly slipping the sweater over her head. If Molly had given her this sweater last year when they had been on the run for a short while and Hermione had yet to lose the weight she had since the battle, perhaps it would have been a snug fit. Hermione ignored that thought and instead picked up a biscuit Molly had set out. She didn't want another reminder about how far the battle's reach extended.

Everyone finished the Christmas tradition with the Tonks family. To both Andromeda and Hermione's surprise, Molly had gifted Andromeda a sweater almost identical to Hermione's. However, the differences came in the color switch, for Hermione's red and gold was mirrored in black and green. The snake embroidered on the chest instead of the lion was meant for the older witch in honour of her Hogwarts House. Feelings stirred in Hermione that felt foreign to her, yet instinctual. She felt as though she'd love the older witch to wear Hermione's sweater instead. An object that claimed. Andromeda's eyes snapped to Hermione's impossibly fast, so fast Hermione had a fleeting thought that Andromeda might have heard her thoughts. Hermione knew the three sisters were naturally gifted in Occulumency and Legilimency, had felt the probing of her mind at Malfoy Manor. Not just from Bellatrix, no, but from Lady Malfoy herself. Hermione quickly forced her mind to blank, not wanting to give anything away. Finding it hard to focus on blankness, Hermione then brought forth a memory of passing her first round of O.W.L.s. That memory still filled her with joy, having performed at the top of her class and received accolades for her achievement.

“Thank you, Molly.” Andromeda said, her voice as deep as it is femininely so. “Seems that Hermione and I were gifted a set of opposites.”

Perhaps Andromeda had heard her thoughts, as Hermione observed the slight tug on Andromeda's lips as well as the haughty stare only broken when Molly responded pleasantly to her. As the two mature women lost themselves in conversation, the rest of the group broke apart. Most of them went outside to watch George play with all the dastardly goodies Tonks had gifted him, save for Remus, Hermione, and Fleur. Hermione had hardly noticed Bill and Fleur's appearance, the reserved couple enjoying the scene quietly. Bill's departure left Fleur looking out of place, although it seemed the former Beauxbaton hadn't noticed. “I hope he heeded Molly's warning. I'd hate to be on the receiving end of that woman.” Remus leaned over to Hermione, his soft-spoken words eliciting a laugh from her.

“I've been unfortunate enough to have caught myself there a few times, although they were only tongue-lashing for getting myself involved in whatever trouble the boys got up to.” Hermione said, smiling at Remus.

His wolfish grin was the only response before he decided to see what antics his wife caused. Hopefully Remus wouldn't have to pay for any damages. Arthur and Molly Weasley seemed to be of the same mind, the latter running out over the glen screaming at the top of her lungs. That left the middle Black sister and Hermione alone in the living room. Hermione sat in a red armchair, the kind one might find in an older London hotel. Andromeda was perched against the wall opposite to the young Gryffindor, studying said girl with an unreadable expression. Candles that sat on the fireplace mantle flickered, shamelessly moving when neither woman dared to. Andromeda's piercing gaze caused Hermione to squirm. She wasn't sure when Andromeda started to have this effect on her. It seemed with every time Andromeda's gaze fell upon her, it caused her to blush. Made her feel like she saw being scrutinized.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.” Andromeda whispered. Maybe she said it normally, but Hermione just perceived it as much too soft.

“Happy Christmas, Andromeda.” Hermione replied.

Andromeda's nosed turned up into something Hermione couldn't decipher. “Please, call me Andy. We are far past acquaintanceship, wouldn't you agree?”

Hermione paused and regarded the older witch for a moment. Had they? Gone past a mere acknowledgment of the other's presence? Yes and no. Hermione still didn't _know_ anything about Andromeda. Maybe it was time to change that. “I could see us being friends. I'd have to get to know you a bit more before I'd feel comfortable addressing you like that.” The look on Andromeda's face led Hermione to believe her words had somehow hurt the woman.

“Of course, I shouldn't have been so presump-” Andromeda started.

Hermione quickly cut her off. “Which we have all the time in the world to get to know each other, right?” Hermione promised, earning a humble smile from the woman.

“At your leisure, Hermione.” Andromeda seconded, her back bending into a sophisticated bow. It wasn't very low, but it was a kind gesture nonetheless.

A hand put itself up as if to protest Andromeda's statement, a soft noise that could only be described as a chuckle elicited from Hermione. “And yours too. It's a two-way street, I'm afraid.” Hermione replied easily. That seemed to quiet Andromeda for the moment and the two witches found themselves in a comfortable silence.

The Burrow had a way of easing its company, comforting its occupants with the worn furniture and family pictures plastered on every wall. Generations of red-headed individuals remembered in memory forever in the moving photographs. Hermione wondered which photograph was the oldest. Magical beings had already discovered moving photography centuries before the muggles had created a similar invention, although only able to capture one moment at a time rather than a collection of moments. Hermione observed Andromeda's stance once the woman got up to fix herself another cup of tea, watching how Andromeda's brunette caught the sun from a nearby window. The ceiling seemed to be lower than most flats or homes Hermione had been in, though not uncomfortably so. Andromeda stood taller than Hermione by a few inches, similar to her elder sister. Hermione's mind wandered to the youngest Black sister, Narcissa, who she vaguely recalled came out to almost or a little under Hermione's height. _Nothing to stop that air of pureblood arrogance though_ , Hermione thought. It seemed the Weasley's family ghoul that inhabited the attic decided at that particular moment that it couldn't seem to handle anymore silence, clanging against random pipes that ran through the home. At this time, Hermione also felt the quiet room suffocate her which prompted her to join Andromeda's shadow that rested on the windowsill.

“Do you really think the ones we lost are happy for us?” Hermione asked, the question having clouded her mind since the impromptu toast to Fred that morning. “I think if I were them, I'd be a bit spiteful. I wouldn't have wanted to change the outcome, of course,” Hermione rushed, “it's just that if we're being honest...I would be quite envious of the living.”

Andromeda fixated on Hermione for a moment, cogs soundlessly working through the beautiful witch's head, and for so long that Hermione felt hot under her gaze. “I believe that you are meant to feel a variety of ways, Hermione. If you could only feel one emotion at a time, how could you feel overwhelmed holding your child for the first time? The very nature of that word is a myriad of emotions.” Andromeda murmured, her eyes leaving Hermione's and focusing on something far, from what Hermione could tell. The tea cup in Andromeda's hand twinkled in sound when she took a sip and sat it in its previous state, before Andromeda lowered the tea and its tray to the windowsill. “I don't think it's fair for us to expect the dead to feel happy about their deaths. I'm sure that Weasley boy would've loved to spend even a second out there with them right now.”

With the trailing of that sentence, Hermione's eyes flew to the sight before them. The younger brood of the Burrow's company sat high on broomsticks, a worn out Quaffle tucked in George's armpit. She had to agree with Andromeda, it would've been so easy to see Fred's determined eyes among the juvenile players.

“But I think at the end of the day, each emotion is overpowered by the most important one of them all. Love.”

Dusk fell quickly over the nearby fields and the tall, rickety home, pushing the remaining people outside in. Snow started to fall at some point during the day and each person found themselves covered in snow. Even Hermione and Andromeda, at Hermione's own prompting, entered into a snowball fight. Hermione had forgotten gloves before she was thrown into the war and although she had a barrage of hand-warming spells to choose from, the downside to such spells being that any snow she collected would melt unless she threw it fast enough. But Hermione supposed she'd rather put aside her pride and lose the fight rather than lose her fingers to frostbite. Snowflakes decorated shoulders and fingers quickly brushed them off, which Andromeda seemed eager to aid Hermione. Hermione thanked the witch and blushed, although one couldn't tell with the cold redness that already existed on her face. How interesting it was to see such actions and almost everyone had missed the lingering touches from Andromeda, save for the daughter of Arthur and Molly Weasley. “You caught more than a few snowballs, 'Mione.” Ginny announced, her playful eyes breaking their obsession over whatever was unfolding between the witches across the room from her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ginny was sore winner, but an insufferable loser when it came to anything remotely competitive. It was that trait that begrudgingly attracted her to the Weasley in the previous years. “If I had my gloves, I would've buried you.” Hermione pointed out, pausing before self-realization hit. “And if I had thought to sling my snowballs with magic, there would have been no competition.” Hermione saw the ginger girl's eyes narrow, but a gracious smile stayed nonetheless. As a few more rousing statements were flung from different people, Hermione glanced back at Andromeda. She had felt the hand clasp tightly around her wrist just a few moments prior, after Ginny had spoken her teasing words. Hermione's confusion must have shook Andromeda from whatever stupor she found herself in because her grip loosened almost immediately after the acknowledgment. Andromeda's eyes never met hers in that moment, though her hand was still cradling Hermione's wrist. Hermione found it to be an incredibly intimate act and discovered that perhaps others would see that too. Much like a repeat of earlier actions, Ginny caught onto this when others didn't. Hermione looked at Ginny and knew before she met her gaze that Ginny would want to know why, but Hermione did not know why. Not anymore than Ginny did, anyways. The feeling around her wrist felt good, if Hermione was honest with herself. It almost seemed _possessive_.

“Andromeda?” Hermione called quietly.

Andromeda was distracted. “Yes, dear?”

“What are you thinking about?” There was no need to hide her curiosity. Hermione felt like she could be honest with the older woman. At least on a surface level.

The Black sister finally turned to Hermione, a smile already on her lips. “I'm just wondering if your acceptance of coming to our soirèe included you coming to stay with us, which we did note in the invitation.” A reassuring hand slipped into Hermione's for a quick squeeze before the owner of the hand cleared her throat, letting her hand drop. Hermione paled for a moment, quickly recovering from the lapse in judgment. She couldn't back out now, she already promised! Andromeda would understand if Hermione would skip that one request since she was bothering to come at all. Conflict made itself know on Hermione's face and Andromeda, smart as ever, immediately picked it up and attempted to soothe the girl. “But as I've said before, your attendance to this event is more than anything my family and I could ever wish for. Especially to make up for some sordid pasts.”

That made Hermione's choice easy, but she was never one to be pampered. “It's only for a few days. There are worse places I could be and you'll be there, won't you?” Hermione asked. It was hard to regret the words that came out of her mouth once she saw just how brilliant Andromeda's smile could be. Its radiance practically sucked the air from her lungs, not daring to breathe until Andromeda spoke again.

“I'll be there everyday.” Andromeda promised, her pristine teeth almost sparkling. Hermione failed to notice the Tonks family had excused themselves, thanking the Weasleys for their hospitality before apparating outside, then Andromeda mirrored their actions. She also failed to realize her legs carried her on their own volition, following the taller woman outside into the cold. Hermione pulled her sweater closer to her before casting a wandless warming spell over the two. The two witches strolled together through the soft powder, footprints weaving and placed haphazardly, for there was no more need to be careful about leaving a trail anymore. They paused at a tree, still within viewing distance of the Burrow although Hermione wouldn't be able to make out any facial features from here. Here Andromeda was looking at Hermione with such an intensity. Hermione was usually well-versed, confident, but the damnable eyes that bewitched her unraveled her.

It wasn't until Andromeda spoke that Hermione felt allowed to speak as well. “Shall I pick you and your things up from here tomorrow then?” Andromeda asked, turning her back to the Burrow and glancing between the moon and Hermione.

“Yes.” Hermione breathed, her voice unsure.

“You do not have to do this for me, Ms. Granger.” Andromeda sighed.

Hermione shook her head and rested her hand on Andromeda's shoulder. “I'm not.” Hermione replied earnestly. She wasn't lying. Hermione found the invitation too tempting and with her newly-acquired fame, perhaps some selfish part of her wanted Narcissa Malfoy (and by extension, Bellatrix) eating out of the palm of her hand. Andromeda's eyebrow quirked at the same time Hermione had that thought and broke the gaze, her face reddening. The eyes were the window to the soul, or at least that was true in the field of Legilimency. One might not even feel an experienced Legilimens probing their mind as long as that eye contact was maintained. Either way, Hermione didn't want anyone in her mind and she didn't want to risk that.

“Right, well...” Andromeda muttered, tossing Hermione another inquisitive glance. “I'll arrive by noon. Goodnight, Hermione.”

Andromeda's lips against her forehead caused something in her stomach to flutter. Hermione felt warmth spreading through her and she wasn't sure if it was her acknowledging her spell's effectiveness, or in the more likely case, her body's simple reaction from such a gesture. Hermione almost became upset at the sudden loss of lips, then at the sudden disappearance of the other witch apparating away. Hermione's thoughts chased her back to the Burrow and had no intention of leaving her, it seemed. The past few days had left Hermione exhausted, but wasn't that her permanent state nowadays?

She knew that she wouldn't find any relief, no agreement to a 'talk later, sleep now' proposal from Ginny. Hermione eyed the storage room on the main floor of the Weasley home, remembering how often her and Ginny sat awake in the earlier days of their youth. Hermione thought back to the Weird Sisters and Holyhead Harpies posters that hung from those same walls with a fond smile. Ginny had taken Fred and George's old room since it was bigger. _That certainly couldn't help Ginny's grief_ , Hermione thought, but everyone handles loss differently. Stair-steps creaked under Hermione's feet, muffled by magic the matron had place on them therefore making it impossible to hear from anyone not in the main part of the house. It was another spell that would've been detriment in Voldemort's time, for they all remained on alert so much so that Mrs. Weasley carried that blasphemous clock with her often, but served as a comfort for those who wished an undisturbed rest. Which none of them could get enough of those days.

When Hermione opened the door to Ginny's current room, she wasn't surprised in the slightest to find the stubborn girl sat up on the bed waiting for her appearance. “There you are! Snogging doesn't take _that_ long.” Ginny groaned, a smirk already at her lips.

“Shut it! That's terribly inappropriate, _Ginevra_.” Hermione spat, but her body seemed to rage against this and burned.

“You're redder than the sweater you're wearing!”Ginny voice held accusation as she pointed to Hermione. Ginny's hand fell as she stood, her jaw flexing as she worked off the anger. “We promised we wouldn't keep stuff from each other, Hermione. You know I don't care whether you're with a boy or a girl, but I don't want you to lie to me about it.”

Hermione spluttered over her rebuttal, noises of denial and shock offered instead. “W-With Andromeda? Gods, Ginny! She's nearly thirty years my senior!”

“Age gaps aren't really an issue. Muggles don't live nearly as long as wizard-folk.” Ginny dismissed with a wave. “That's not a good cover-up.”

“It isn't a cover-up! I am not romantically involved with Andromeda, not that it's any of your business anyways. My private left, or what's left of it, is entirely up to _me_.” Hermione stressed, joining Ginny's pacing. The girls had rarely fought in the past, but Hermione was wound up. _How dare she pry into my life?_ Hermione thought angrily. Something about Ginny's resolved conclusions infuriated her to not end. Ginny's hostile accusations got under Hermione's skin. But as soon as the outburst had came, the coolness between the two fell.

Ginny's head bowed and Hermione could tell there would be an apology from her lips soon after. “I...I didn't realize that's what I was doing, 'Mione.” Ginny murmured, crossing the unnamed boundary that separated the girls on opposite sides of the room. Ginny took Hermione's hand in hers and squeezed lovingly, apologetically, regretfully. “If there was anything going on, you're right, it isn't my business to know. Nor is it fair to try and get an answer out of you.”

“It's alright, Gin.” Hermione sighed, whether from frustration or relief from Ginny's calming actions. “I will admit there were a few moments between recent run-ins with Andromeda that made me feel...” Hermione trailed off, her face that was red from angry dimmed to a frosted pink.

Ginny's wicked grin appeared and Hermione felt a twinge in her heart of adoration. “How did it make you feel, Hermione?” Ginny questioned.

“Butterflies.” Hermione whispered, throwing conspiratorial glances to invisible people in the room. She secretly lived for this vain drama, the kind that teenagers obsessed over. Not like the perils of choosing to die for something you believe in.

The red-headed girl released a soft exhale, obviously pleased by Hermione's answer. Ginny laid down in her bed and patted beside her, Hermione already kicking off her boots and crawling into the covers without further care. The girls launched into debates about what Andromeda's sexiest qualities were. Without shame, Ginny listed off several physical attributes which Hermione attempted to hide her face during. Ginny forced down the blanket and that led to a tug-of-war between the two. Any attempt Hermione tried to thwart Ginny's grip failed miserably and only served to boost the Weasley girl's ego. “No need to be shy! I'm just trying to see how Andromeda wets your panties.” Ginny teased.

“Must! You! Be! So! Crass!” Hermione panted in between swings of her pillow. Each hit struck a giggling Ginny and Hermione imagined she'd never seen the girl act more her age until that moment. “There's none that does that! She just has some admirable qualities.” Hermione mumbled, falling on her back to the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

Ginny mirrored her actions with that ever-present grin, though the girl thought it time to cut her friend some slack and hooked their arms together. “Surely you're not disagreeing with me when I say that her tits are to die for.” Ginny said with such innocence that Hermione hadn't picked up on its true vulgar nature.

“Perhaps I need to fetch your mum and tell her you need some etiquette classes.” Hermione threatened, earning a laugh from her companion.

“There is no taming this tongue.” Ginny winked, laughing harder when Hermione fought the rising blush in her cheeks.

The moon distracted Hermione for a moment or rather, memories of recent past distracted Hermione, where Andromeda's lips had pressed so softly to her forehead that one couldn't imagine they had touched there at all. She thought back to how warm Andromeda's exhale felt, the grab on her wrist. Hermione thought about how different those lips would feel against her own, a hand in her hair, the other dipping below her waist and-

“She has soft lips,” _Christ, control yourself, Hermione Granger!_ Hermione scolded herself. “Or rather, I can imagine how soft they'd be.” Hermione said softly.

Ginny knew she could ruin the moment by more teasing, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the torn expression that Hermione lost herself too, the vulnerability that shown so clearly. Ginny sat arched for just a moment before pressing a kiss to Hermione's head in a similar fashion one had just given the very same girl an hour ago. “You deserve love, Hermione, wherever you can find it.” Ginny said, and that was all there was to it. Neither girl moved to make more conversation, instead, Ginny curled into Hermione's side and closed her eyes. Hermione followed the red-head's silent instructions and followed suit, her eyes fluttering to a close. Of course, Hermione couldn't fall asleep immediately, but Ginny's breathing eventually evened out and the sound of her quiet breaths was enough to send Hermione into a deep slumber.

Andromeda fulfilled her promise and arrived at the poorly-stacked home at noon. Hermione was eager to see her, or at least Ginny kept voicing that particular thought all while packing for her stay at Malfoy Manor. When Hermione flew down the stairs at the knock of the door, she almost fell over herself the moment she saw Andromeda. The witch wore aubergine robes that were accented with golden accessories; bracelets dangling along her wrist, earrings with emerald gems, and a necklace with a raven made out of some material Hermione couldn't place that hung just a hair high of her cleavage. It was at that unfortunate moment that Andromeda noticed Hermione's arrival. Andromeda wouldn't comment on how inappropriate Hermione's behavior, but the young witch knew Andromeda caught her line of sight. “Good morning, Hermione. Are you ready?” Andromeda asked, a smile at her lips and her arm out in offering.

“Good morning, Andromeda. Yes, let's get this over with.” Hermione muttered, though there was an undercurrent of nervousness that plagued the girl. That particular emotion is partly why Hermione woke up early that day. An eagerness to explore and experience, but foreboding in remembrance. Hermione grabbed her trunk and felt an urge to look for Crookshanks, then remembered her princely cat was probably gorging himself on tuna her mother snuck him from time to time. The young witch took Andromeda's arm and said her goodbyes to the occupants of the Burrow, promising to write once she got settled.

As Hermione followed Andromeda outside, she couldn't help but feel like she was in the right place at the right time. There was an odd easiness that fell between the two witches even if Andromeda left her often tongue-tied. “My family is excited to welcome you into their home. You're their most esteemed guest.” Andromeda praised, gently squeezing Hermione's arm.

“I doubt that. You've invited Harry, after all.” Hermione reasoned.

Andromeda shook her head and paused under the tree on a hill, much like she did the night before. “This era of peace and acceptance would have never been possible if it weren't for your resourcefulness. You're a smart witch, Hermione. I feel like you hear it all the time that you don't truly realize how intelligent you are.” Andromeda said, her voice softening as she laid her eyes on Hermione.

The pair apparated. Hermione didn't have the chance to reply before she felt impossibly tight, as if her body was stretching through a thin tube. She _hated_ apparating but it was just so convenient when one's on a time restraint, and Hermione always used each waking hour to its fullest potential. Unfortunately, that meant Hermione had very little wiggle room outside of her schedule though it wasn't particularly unpleasant. Stability meant life was good and besides, Hermione made sure to enjoy each break she got thoroughly. Whether that be in the prefect's bathroom, her private room made possible by the Head Girl title, the Room of Requirement, or even on the rare occasion an empty classroom (yes, McGonagall's included). Hermione might have blushed at the appearance of her most indecent thoughts if it weren't for the sight before her.

Malfoy Manor held its previous glum outlook that Hermione had related to the house in memory, the sheer size of the building boasting like a true Malfoy would. It seemed their snobbishness extended to their properties and possessions as well. Hermione watched the hedges stretch unending in a row, the shrubby expectantly manicured precisely. Andromeda and Hermione arrived at the wrought-iron gates that creaked as it welcomed a Black into its fold. _Interesting how the wards understand pureblood ties,_ Hermione curiously thought. The impressive mansion stood tall, two towers flanking either side of a rectangle building that housed the main entrance to its double doors. The doors were a pitch black, a stark contrast to the worn exterior walls; though lasting in its color, white. Andromeda's gentle hold on Hermione's arm tightened, desperately asking her to trust the older witch. Hermione plastered a reassuring smile -or hoped that it looked like one- and moved closer to Andromeda. The hand's grip slackened but remained there in what could have been mistaken as a possessive manner, the thought making Hermione trip over air. Andromeda's stable arms cradled Hermione before she fell, her face about a foot away from the ground. The girl's embarrassment blossomed over her face as she continued walking as though nothing happened. As expected, Andromeda was never one to pass up a teasing so deliciously offered in a moment such as this. “Hermione,” Andromeda tutted, “perhaps you'll find better footing once we get inside?” There was a smirk to her words. Hermione only sought her a glare before steeling herself when Andromeda pushed the obsidian doors forward.

Much to Hermione's surprise, the black walls she remembered were covered now in a deep emerald green, of course in honor of their Slytherin background. What stood out the most to the house's ex-escapee were the beige couches, a light gray blanket draped across the back of one and some sort of navy blue zigzag-patterned blanket across the other in a similar fashion. The colors seemed too lively to Hermione. The house seemed too _accepting_ , too _cozy_. Hermione felt Andromeda's hands take hold of her jacket, pulling the zipper down and shrugging it off of Hermione's shoulders to reveal the girl's dark red long sleeve shirt. The loose shirt had an innocent v-neck, stopping before it could display Hermione's bosom. Andromeda smiled and hooked Hermione's jacket on the coat rack adjacent to the door, returning to the young witch's side with an arm around the girl. “I like your outfit.” Andromeda praised.

Hermione shyly thanked her and remained silent as her eyes flickered between doors. It seemed to put her on edge when no one had greeted them at the door. Her suspicion died once she heard the commanding strikes of heels against marble, belonging only to one regal witch- Narcissa Malfoy, no wait, Narcissa _Black_ \- Hermione corrected. The proud witch towered over Hermione in heels even with Hermione's height advantage. It was all a ploy, Hermione had decided, for Narcissa to feel _powerful_ in any presence with outside company. Height wasn't the only thing Hermione had noticed. Narcissa's skunk-patterned hair fell past her shoulders, her bangs pulled and connected into a clip pinched at the back of her head. Blue eyes scrutinized Hermione's soul, the girl felt like, face completely devoid of emotion. _Better than unabashed hatred_ , Hermione surmised, thinking of the eldest sister. The thought almost made her shudder but Hermione stopped herself, refusing to act in any way that a pureblood could point out the rabble from the roost.

“Ms. Granger,” Narcissa greeted.

_Pleasant enough_ , Hermione noted. “Lady Ma-, Lady Black.” Hermione repeated, snapping her eyes shut for a moment and cursing the gods that had place Hermione in this horrifying world. “Thank you for inviting me into your home. It's lovely.” Which wasn't a lie. The home improved significantly and although one of Hermione's worst memories occurred under its roof, the fact that everything looked so different consoled the girl's feelings about her temporary living arrangement.

An eyebrow quirked on Narcissa's face and Hermione swore she saw a twitch of the woman's ruby lips before it returned to its straight line. “Oh please, the pleasure is ours. The war is over and I want to improve our relationships with those we have wronged.” Narcissa explained, gesturing for the women to take a seat on the sofa. Narcissa crossed one leg over the other, her leg-slit black dress exposing a long, pale leg. Hermione didn't understand what was so appealing about legs until that moment. Narcissa may have been much like Andromeda, thirty or so years her senior, but her body appeared as young as a woman in her early thirties. Narcissa's foot kicked in a repetitive motion, with or without a teasing need, Hermione didn't know. She just _felt_ Narcissa's eyes bore into hers mid-way through her appreciative gaze. Hermione wondered if her mind was broadcasting to the two women that knew just how to tune in on her thoughts.

“You mean you want to rebuild your reputation.” Hermione tested. She knew this game, this attempt at a social climb. Hermione's voice held no accusation, merely like it were just a fact of the matter at hand. One she wasn't opposed to, since Narcissa all but won the war at a most crucial time. If she hadn't lied to the deadliest man alive at that time, who knows where they'd be?

“That is a benefit to all of this, yes. I have lived too long in my husband's shadow that mine blended in with his. Malfoy holds no redemption for the woman I was as Narcissa Malfoy. I wish to return to the girl that was known as Narcissa Black.” Narcissa stated, though Hermione could tell there were no lies in Narcissa's words. “It would be a disgrace to show our faces without offering some kind of penance to those that led us to this time of peace, especially when we have so...cruelly treated them as less.”

Confusion overtook Hermione as she listened, her eyebrows clipped in thought. Both Black sisters were watching her, both held their breath for Hermione's response. But she didn't know how to feel. The entirety of the situation boggled her to no end. Hermione's mind felt like a car on a race track with no pit crew to aid her, causing her vehicle (her mind) to wear itself out into nothingness. Andromeda's hand went to rest on top of Hermione's, pulling the girl out of her stupor. “Hermione, I may have some practice with Legilimency, but I don't think I'd have to know the first thing about it to hear the wheels turning in that pretty head of yours.” Andromeda chuckled, but she was right. Hermione needed to calm down.

“I apologize, Madam Black. I got lost in my thoughts.” Hermione apologized. Hermione would have continued if it weren't for Narcissa's hand raised in refusal.

Narcissa's demeanor was a codex Hermione tried to decipher, but Hermione couldn't or didn't understand what emotions swam within Narcissa's blue depths. “I will acknowledge the words unspoken in the room...” Narcissa started, if even by the slight mention of the house's traumatic witness to Bellatrix's torment of Hermione filled the room with tension. “...Ms. Granger, there are things this family knows that would amaze even you, a girl forced to become a woman before her time. There are things unknown to you that I wish to explain. Not to dismiss you or your trauma, but to perhaps bring you closure in _why_.” Narcissa emphasized. For the first time, the woman looked nervous. Hermione felt it uncomfortable to see that emotion so clearly expressed.

“Why what?” Hermione asked, but she already knew.

“Why my sister carved your arm.”

“Madness is all there is to it, is it not?” Hermione spat, the venom in her voice surprising her. Hermione felt indignant, for how could Narcissa Black begin to explain to her those actions when Hermione already knew? _Hatred_ drove Bellatrix Black's insanity, that and a fascist regime that agreed with those beliefs.

Narcissa did not miss the hiss that accompanied Hermione's voice, instead she sat up and perched on the edge of her seat to lean towards Hermione. “While it is true the spell wouldn't have been as effective if Bellatrix didn't believe at least somewhat that her actions were right, we have arrived at the conclusion that Bellatrix was under decades long influence of the Imperius curse.” Narcissa murmured, a face full of conviction.

“How did she not have a strong enough will to break out of it? Not even once?” Hermione scoffed.

The blonde pushed off from the sofa and cross the room to the fireplace, her hands joined behind her as she seemed to be lost in deep thought. “There were times Bellatrix broke free from it, I just hadn't realized it at the time. But if you had committed the atrocities she had, wouldn't you want to live in denial too? From my understanding, Bellatrix _wanted_ the Dark Lord to control her after she broke the spell the first time. I don't think she could have lived with herself if she believed her actions were her own.” Narcissa explained, turning around to face her sister and the muggle-born. Hermione studied the worn, but still beautiful as ever face of her torturer's sister. _What does this change_? Hermione thought bitterly, although her anger withered away until there was only a charred stirring of tired frustration. Narcissa's voice held hope and Hermione felt wrong to take that away from her. She had never seen the blonde look so animated, although not in the typical one might think. Narcissa still maintained an aloofness rivaled to that of a street cat, one that would cautiously eat food set out for it but never come within arm's reach of a willing party.

“Does Bell- does she still...hate me?” Hermione wondered aloud. She wasn't sure if she meant to voice that particular concern, but for honesty's sake and her own insatiable thirst for answers she was glad she did.

Narcissa's posture told Hermione she had been relieved, though didn't understand why the woman walked on eggshells around her. Perhaps if someone more vindictive were in Hermione's position, they'd use Narcissa's pass transgressions against her. _Surely Narcissa's been bullied in such fashion before._ That thought made Hermione frown. Narcissa knelt by Hermione, who at that time was momentarily distracted by a glimpse of the blonde's toned leg, and placed a hand on the young witch's knee. “That is something I cannot answer for you, but what I can say is that Bellatrix's actions weren't purely her own. How much Voldemort played a part and Bellatrix herself, only her memories could tell. For the most part, the more heinous of Bellatrix's crimes were directly influenced by the horcrux in her aided by the Imperius spell.” Narcissa confirmed, her hand turning over and opening as an invitation. Hermione placed her hand in the older woman's and felt the cold skin encase her hand, not unpleasantly so, with such a gentleness.

“I know there's no redemption without remorse and I understand I have no right to ask this of you, but will you witness these memories with us? We extended the same offer to Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley but they declined, though truly we merely offered it as a comfort for you. I wouldn't ask you to view them with just Andromeda and I, since I feel that is overwhelming.” Narcissa murmured, her fingers stroking the back of Hermione's hand. The motion sent Hermione's head into a spin. It unnerved Hermione that the two Black sisters were gentle when they wanted to be, _loving_ , and she couldn't help but wonder if that extended to the eldest sister as well.

Hermione stared at their hands for what seemed like hours, but in real time only seconds as she considered the request. “When do we start?” Hermione asked, and she couldn't regret her decision when it was that response that earned her two brilliant smiles from the women in her company.

Although Andromeda hadn't spoken throughout the entire exchange, once a decision was made, she sprung into action. Narcissa wanted Hermione to start reviewing the memories with the sisters as soon as possible, but Andromeda fought her and fought her hard. After an intense discussion, they all agreed to begin after the New Years Eve ball, which was less than a week a way at this time. Time helped Hermione and it crippled her. She had something to look forward to, but the subject brought dread and fear. Hermione couldn't deny how tempting it was to look through Bellatrix Black's memories, if only to understand the woman better. The infamous witch was an enigma that fascinated her. Hermione wasn't sure if it was the passionate crush she felt growing more and more each day, or the fact that the woman maimed Hermione so permanently that she only felt that she had a right to know this woman- inside and out. This thought brought a blush to the girl's face, forcing Andromeda to repeat her words.

“...and these are your quarters for your stay. I hope you find them comfortable, I think Narcissa would stop at no end to ensure-” Andromeda murmured, a humor laced in her rich voice. The older witch paused when she was Hermione lingering in the doorway and slipped the girl's hand into hers, tenderly pulling her into the room. “This is where you'll be staying, Hermione.” Andromeda's smooth words called to Hermione.

The blush, ever present, decided to die down at that moment when all Hermione could feel was embarrassment and if she were being honest with herself, shame. Hermione hated that she felt _anything_ towards Bellatrix, whether she acted on the attraction to the older witch or not. Regardless if she was innocent of Sirius' death, of the Longbottoms torture, Bellatrix had _scarred_ her. Her beliefs clashed so viciously that it caused a migraine to quickly form. Hermione pulled her hand away from Andromeda's and held it to her forehead, hissing softly.

“Are you alright?” Andromeda asked, her eyes panicking even if her body wasn't expressing it.

Hermione nodded and slipped her arms around Andromeda's waist, eliciting a surprised gasp at the sudden and rather intimate contact. “I think I might need to rest for a while. Is that alright?” Hermione whispered, the pounding increasing with every sound the room seemed to host.

Andromeda scoffed and immediately led Hermione to the bed, all but forcing the girl to lay down. “Of course it's alright, Hermione. I'll fetch you for dinner but I want you to rest for now.” Andromeda said, her features expressing every emotion the woman was feeling. Maybe Hermione had no need for Legilimency for this particular sister. Andromeda seemed to be honest, even when reserved Hermione could tell this woman cared for her. That thought brought a wet sheen to her eyes and she turned away from Andromeda. “Was it something I said?” Andromeda asked, full of worry.

Soft hands rested on Andromeda's fidgeting hands and a head shook in response, Hermione's slight smile soothing her immediately. “Andy, you've been nothing but kind to me. Remember that I trust you so much so that I have willing returned to this madhouse.” Hermione joked, but there was truth to her words. Hermione came back to her hallowed ground, where _her_ blood was shed. There was a reason and Hermione would soon find out why.

Andromeda never failed to surprise the girl, especially when her lips were involved. That familiar mouth found its previous placement on her forehead, but it surprised her even further when that mouth traveled to her cheeks and deposited a kiss there. Hermione noticed the sheets balled into Andromeda's hands, as if that simple action was too much for the older woman to bare and needed something that grounded her. The grip loosened and smoothed out the wrinkles of the sheet when Andromeda removed her lips. “Thank you for trusting me, Hermione.” Andromeda breathed, something _alive_ in her eyes. Hermione only nodded and watched as Andromeda departed.

Hermione woke when the sun exchanged its post with the moon, signaling that it wasn't quite night yet, but only a few short hours of reaching its peak. A light tapping on her door stole her attention from the window. Hermione murmured a soft 'come in' and was greeted by a robe-clad Andromeda. The purple robes she had on early were now a snug red dress that reached her calves, clung to her womanly hips. _No wonder she wed early_ , Hermione admired. It seemed she announced that thought and rather loudly, as she watched Andromeda's cursed lips pull into a knowing smirk. “Dinner is a rather formal affair and figured I'd showcase you an example of what to wear.” Andromeda said finally, entering the room and shutting the door behind her. There was a mystery to the Black's actions and Hermione found her eerily similar to that of her older sister, watching as the woman put on a suggestive show in front of her. The woman strode across the room with her hips swaying so painstakingly seductive that it almost had Hermione drooling. Hermione chastised herself and began searching for something other than the fancy dress she had purchased a couple days prior.

“I'm not sure that I have anything like...that.” Hermione admitted, bemused as her once pristine bed was now littered with clothes of all varieties but no dinner gown.

Andromeda's wand was suddenly in her hand and soundlessly flicked it towards a dresser that opened, a flash of cloth flying out of it and onto the bed. It was a simple dress, although less revealing than what she might've though a Black sister would wear. It did surprise Hermione, however, the color of the dress. Hermione felt eyes stare at her back as she picked up the dress, shyly asking Andromeda to turn. The older woman obliged although not without that damned smirk turning around with her. Hermione removed her garments and replaced it with the pink dress. It was a simple dress with a sparkling tulle overlay that rested translucently over the pastel color. The sleeves were made out of the same material as the pink tulle and felt scratchy but not uncomfortably so against Hermione's skin. What Hermione noticed most was the fact it was a backless dress. Hermione's buttocks were covered, but her smooth, pale back illuminated in the moonlight. Hermione muttered the end to her dressing and Andromeda stilled when she saw her. Andromeda watched in awe as Hermione's fingers got lost in her own hair, obviously her struggles with her mane had only lessened over the years, never fully going away. Andromeda's expert hands grabbed the brush from Hermione and started combing through the ends before weaving random handfuls of hair into a neat pattern. The taming of her hair left Hermione's stomach fluttering, evidently stirring the butterflies that had started collecting there ever since that first forehead kiss given to her by Andromeda. The two women looked into the mirror, Andromeda's hands possessively laid on opposite sides on Hermione's torso. “You look absolutely gorgeous, Ms. Granger.” Andromeda purred, her hands traveling down the slope of Hermione's shoulders. The action sent shivers down her exposed spine, skin that Hermione could've sworn she felt Andromeda caress. It was so light that Hermione couldn't be sure.

“Thank you.” Hermione mumbled, and wished she could say more but knew she'd make a fool of herself if she tried.

They departed the bedroom and Hermione found that it laid on the second floor of the Malfoy estate. She wondered if it could even be considered a Malfoy's when it housed so many Black family members. Her passion for knowledge could be her downfall or it could be her salvation. That seemed to be the case so far, anyways. Emerald seas drowned Hermione in almost everyone room she found herself in. The one room that had been different so far was her designated suite. The white walls had given her some relief from the Slytherin green. Hermione felt like a trophy with Andromeda's arm hooked around hers, but some selfish part of her relished in it. She felt pretty, especially with Andromeda's stolen glances tossed her way. Hermione thought Andromeda was quite peculiar and didn't really understand the woman's interest in her, nor could she figure the woman out herself. The Black sisters were all unique in their own way, but personal gains were a vice to them. To some level, Hermione knew she should be guarded with this witch, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Much to Hermione's pleasure, the walls of the dining room were also refuge from the emerald she found everywhere else. The white walls made the room feel large, causing an uneasy feeling to bloom in the pit of Hermione's stomach. A long chestnut table acted as the focal point of the room and around it sat eight matching upholstered slat-back chairs. The cloth part of the chairs were a rich cream color much like the walls of the room, but more...textured in a way.

“My, Ms. Granger, your beauty almost matches your wit.” Narcissa commented, Hermione's surprised to see what could only imagine her expression mirrored in the woman. Narcissa looked entranced but evidently was able to shake from her thoughts, gesturing the women to join her. Hermione noticed the Malfoy heir's presence for the first time and nodded her greeting to him, although did not lift her downward gaze to meet his mother's eyes.

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy, but you can call me Hermione.” Hermione murmured, taking a place in the middle seat opposite to Draco. Andromeda joined her immediate right, mirrored by Narcissa joining Draco's left, and at the head of the table laid an extra plate. The older witch placed a hand on Hermione's thigh, as if Andromeda sensed Hermione's adrenaline and urge to run. Hermione appreciated the gesture.

“And you can call me Narcissa, my dear.” Narcissa said.

Andromeda rested her elbow on the table and held her head in her hand, her eyes flickering between her sister and Hermione before finally settling on Narcissa. “So how are your studies coming along Draco? Hermione.”

“Fine.” Draco replied dryly. It seemed he wasn't up for conversation. Hermione thought he looked better than he normally did at school, but barely. “Just a few more months and I'll be out of there, free to do whatever I want.”

His mother looked ready to chastise so Hermione interrupted her before she could start. “What do you want to do, Draco?” Hermione asked, always the inquisitive one. Draco took a moment to size her up, a wary look passing his features before he decided that Hermione was more likely to have a honest curiosity rather than searching for ammunition against him.

“I want to go to France for a while. Their wizarding community is almost as large as the English's and that's where my lineage is from.” Draco said.

Hermione nodded and smiled. “That's a wonderful idea. I wish you luck.”

Draco grunted his thanks much to the distaste of his pureblood mother. Draco didn't retain many pureblood traits after Voldemort's fall which both worried Hermione and pleased her. She didn't understand herself sometimes, especially when she found herself emphasizing with people who had hurt her in the past. After all, Draco had tormented her, harassed her for years. Nothing could brush that stain off of him and his relationship with Hermione, but she couldn't help feeling pity for the boy. He seemed broken. Lost. Hermione supposed one could have worse goals than simply wanting to live in one's ancestral home.

A snap struck the room and a house-elf appeared, although this one was dressed much better than Dobby or any other house-elf she'd seen. “Mistress, your dinner is ready.” The house elf greeted, its ears flopping over as it bowed to Narcissa.

“Thank you, Pinky. Please set the table.” Narcissa ordered.

Goblets filled with Bordeaux wine, the musk emitted from the fermented drink reaching Hermione's nose. A ham served with sliced pineapple rings appeared in front of Hermione and a tray of stuffing followed soon after, ladles placed in each dish. More trays filled with sides and desserts appeared, most notably a roll smeared with strawberry butter. Hermione could've moaned at the sight of her favorite baked good, but she restrained herself. Andromeda quirked an eyebrow when she saw just how much the food affected Hermione. “My sister wanted a Christmas dinner of sorts since we were unable to have it yesterday. That was partly why I wished to join you and the Weasley family yesterday.” Andromeda murmured, watching as Draco cut into the ham and sliced enough portions for him and the women at the table. Hermione watched Draco as he continued to serve each woman, filling their plates with tasty sights. Hermione blushed when Draco placed two of her favorite rolls on her plate, obviously picking up her affinity for them. “Such a gentleman! Thank you, nephew.” Andromeda teased, laughing when the boy developed a redness that rivaled Hermione's.

“It's unfortunate that you weren't able to celebrate, but I'm honored to be able to partake with you all now.” Hermione said, a smile gracing her lips. It didn't surprise her when she acknowledged how genuine it was. So far, her stay had been pleasant, if not a little overwhelming.

“Quite right. We are all pleased to have you with us, Hermione.” Narcissa said.

The group fell into silence save for the cutlery against porcelain, Hermione's sawing of her ham causing the bulk of the noise. Slender hands gripped over hers and forcefully cut each piece until Andromeda was satisfied, releasing her hands from Hermione's and returning back to her own meal. Hermione felt like her face would catch onto flames and continued to fidget in her seat, although she was now able to properly enjoy her food. Hermione saved her rolls for last. _The best for last_ , Hermione thought, picking up a roll and tearing a piece off in her hand. When the bread passed her lips, there was no stopping the noise that follow. It was impossible for bread to taste this good.

“I suppose I should reward Pinky for her service tonight. Don't you think, Hermione?” Narcissa questioned, although Hermione was able to detect the same teasing nature her older sister Andromeda seemed to possess as well.

Hermione couldn't care less about Narcissa at the moment. “Maybe you should. I've never had anything quite like this.” Hermione admitted. It was just bread, but even that simple food became a delicacy to the girl. Perhaps she could get Andromeda to mail her some when she returned to Hogwarts.

“What would you say a proper reward would be?” Narcissa indulged. The blonde witch was joking before, but now Hermione's reaction and all around her entire personality interested Narcissa.

The hand returned to her thigh at this moment, claimed her, Hermione thought. Andromeda was looking at her with a curious intent, as if the woman was studying something she had never seen before. “I'm not sure. I'd say freedom but I understand not all pureblood houses are willing to get rid of their elves and I must admit, most of the elves would rather die than leave their masters.” Hermione murmured, wanting to get a rise from Narcissa. She wanted to know how to woman would react. Hermione faltered when she received no response and instead gave Narcissa a real answer. “I'm not sure. Perhaps a day off or a nice gift for Pinky would be acceptable.”

With that, Narcissa snapped her fingers. In an instant, Pinky was at her side already bowing.

“Yes, Mistress?” Pinky wheezed.

“Tell me something you desire, Pinky.” Narcissa commanded. Hermione gawked at her. Surely Narcissa hadn't thought Hermione expected her to actually go _through_ with it. Attempts at trying to improve conditions for house-elves died down after the ones at Hogwarts rebelled against Hermione, effectively ending her protest. The thought that Narcissa was so willing to respect Hermione and her feelings stirred something out of her.

The house-elf squeaked and shook its head. “Pinky doesn't need anything else. Pinky promises Mistress that she is content.”

The blonde witch patted Pinky on the head and gently scratched behind her ear, earning a sigh from the elf. “Pinky, would you like some of our leftovers?”

What a comical sight it was to see how big the eyes of the house-elf got, only comparable to the size of baseballs! Pinky's line of sight went straight to the last remaining roll that rested on Hermione's plate. _Oh no!_ Hermione's mind cried.

“May I have the bread?” Pinky asked, not meeting her mistress's eyes and instead tugged on her ears.

Narcissa sighed and shook her head. “No, I'm afraid-”

“It's alright, Narcissa.” Hermione murmured, scooping the roll into her hand and stretching it out to the elf. “It's only fair you get to taste what you prepared for us.”

Sharing was something that everyone knew and most practiced, but it was another to give up enjoyment for another one's happiness. Giving was much harder. Pinky looked conflicted between the two women, but snatched the roll when Narcissa gave the slightest nod. “Thank you, Mistress Granger! Pinky was pleased to serve you!” Pinky exclaimed. Narcissa dismissed the elf who then apparated away to wherever she went.

“That was kind of you.” Andromeda commented, her eyes catching Narcissa's. Hermione watched the quiet exchange between the two sisters and cleared her throat, not wanting to watch the secret conversation. It wasn't fun being left out.

Hermione shrugged. “She earned it.” Andromeda smiled, only this smile meant something more to Hermione. It seemed like Andromeda approved and for some reason, that held great meaning for the Gryffindor. Narcissa nodded at Hermione's words and even held the tiniest bit of a smile, if Hermione's assertion was right. The group continued their Christmas feast until footsteps sounded through the hallway. A chill ran down Hermione's spine as her mind went to the one person it could have been. The footsteps grew quieter as the unnamed person lingered outside the room. The ancient door heaved as it was pushed forward, revealing a slim figure with infamous black hair that hung in ringlets. Hermione's eyes widened in recognition of those eyes that haunted her, but they looked more haunted themselves now. Those eyes locked on Hermione's and pierced them, malice existed there but so did something else. Something weary, something tired.

“No one rung me for dinner.” The voice chimed, its host adopting a fake pout. “Did I do something naughty?”

Bellatrix Black.

Hermione felt the hand in her lap gripped her a little too hard and she jumped, her attention turning to Andromeda. She wouldn't have been surprised by the hardness in Andromeda's eyes knowing the history between her and her sister, but something else lingered there.

“We had a guest tonight and we figured settle her in before properly...reintroducing you two again.” Narcissa explained, her questioning gaze settling between Hermione and Andromeda before deciding to pursue another task at hand.

Bellatrix smiled, if one could call it that, and scanned the room, as if she were searching for the aforementioned guest. “Who is it? I only see my beautiful family and some unfortunate mud that collected itself on one of your chairs, Cissy.” Bellatrix said, tapping her chin as if she were deep in thought. Hermione suddenly felt bile hit the back of her throat and she choked to keep it down, avoiding the eldest Black sister's eyes. “Oh don't cry, Muddy! I was only joking.” Bellatrix said, cackling as she roughly pulled the head chair back to sit, piling mountains of food on her plate. Hermione did not dare to move and focused on her breathing. She felt like bricks were pushing down on her chest and the situation was not helping.

“That is _enough_ , Bellatrix.” Andromeda warned, her fingers rubbing circles on Hermione's thigh. The action seemed to calm the young witch for the moment, who only sighed in relief. “Either act pleasant or I can see about getting you a fortnight's stay in Azkaban.”

Bellatrix seemed put out, if the jutting of her bottom lip was anything to go by. “You're no fun.” Bellatrix said simply, focusing on the meal at hand. Once Hermione felt brave enough, her eyes wandered to the Head of House Black. For the first time, Hermione was able to get a proper look at the infamous witch. She wondered how she felt about her prison photographs. They clearly didn't do her any justice, though partly because the woman acted stark mad in them anyhow. Bellatrix was a sloppy eater, at least in front of private company, and because of this Hermione was able to get a good look at her teeth. What were once rotting, black pits were now pristine pearls. It served the woman well to have such a beautiful smile, Hermione noted. It might be the fact that her parents were dentists, but Hermione found herself attracted to a good smile. Bellatrix's figure also improved, but years in Azkaban had taken its toll. The witch was still petite, just a little more filled out since returning to the Malfoy house as its permanent prisoner. Hermione expected Bellatrix to wore black and her expectations were right. Bellatrix was dressed well for a crazed witch, perhaps her pureblood etiquette refused to allow one to expect anything less. The dress seemed as black as a void, sleeves made of lace encapsulating marble skin. It would've reached the ground if it weren't for Bellatrix's heels.

“Do you have to think so loudly?” Bellatrix growled, her fork clanging as it fell to her plate. Hermione's cheeks burned in response and her gaze fell, avoiding Bellatrix's narrowed eyes.

“I'm sorry.” Hermione murmured.

Andromeda gently cupped her jaw and tilted Hermione's head back to look at her. “Don't apologize for existing, Hermione. _Someone_ shouldn't be in others heads!” Andromeda exclaimed. It annoyed her over how flippant her sister could be sometimes when Bellatrix waved it off.

“I wasn't trying to, the girl was practically opening herself for me.” Bellatrix sighed, as if Hermione was just some mild inconvenience.

Hermione felt angry, outraged. _She_ spent so many sleepless nights over that foul git and she had the audacity to _continue_ to treat Hermione like trash. Like scum. Like _mud_. “Excuse me, I think I'd like to retire to my room now.” Hermione excused herself. Narcissa looked conflicted, torn between wanting Hermione's presence and easing the girl's obvious suffering. The blonde chose the former and nodded her approval.

“I'll walk you there.” Andromeda murmured, throwing her napkin to her plate and standing with the Gryffindor.

Bellatrix watched the scene with great interest, leaning back as she popped her tongue against her mouth. Her lips stretched into a manic grin, laughing and letting out a faux whine. “And to think I was beginning to have some fun. I'll see you later, _Granger_.” Bellatrix promised, though her voice held intent.

“Goodnight, Bellatrix.” Hermione replied, not allowing the other to get a rise out of her. She could see Bellatrix clench her jaw, but it seemed like she knew how balance herself on a boundary. Hermione could see, could _feel_ Narcissa's hot glare meant for her older sister and took that as her cue to leave. If there was anything that Hermione got out of the exchange, it was that Bellatrix seemed no different save for one fact. Bellatrix was pacified here and she couldn't hurt Hermione. At least, not physically, and Hermione didn't think the woman wanted to. Well, want is a bit different than wouldn't because Hermione figured Bellatrix wouldn't chance going back to Azkaban, if her expression was anything to go by when Andromeda brought it up.

Silence followed the women and neither one sought to banish it. In fact, Hermione welcomed it. It helped calm her, but the same could not be said about Andromeda. Each step she took seemed to sizzle with her fury and Hermione had never seen the woman this worked up, save for her participation at the Battle of Hogwarts. They finally arrived at Hermione's guest room and entered soundlessly, Andromeda shutting the door behind her. Hermione decided to use the add-on bathroom to change into her nude-colored nightgown and matching shorts, returning to see a tormented Andromeda clutching her head in her hands. The woman looked so hurt. “Andy, what's wrong?” Hermione asked, her voice soft with concern.

Andromeda lifted her head and for the first time, Hermione could see tears not yet released. “Please forgive me, Hermione! I knew we should not have invited you here but Cissy pleaded with me and you've seen those eyes! I never stood a chance saying no!” Andromeda wailed.

Hermione hurried to the older witch's side and slipped an arm around her waist, the other closing another way around Andromeda. “Shush now. I knew what I was signing up for when I came. In all honesty, I thought it would be worse.” Hermione murmured, a smile at her lips in hopes she could draw the same reaction from the woman in her arms.

It seemed to work, Andromeda lifting her head and sniffling as she searched Hermione's eyes. Hermione studied the redness around hurt brown eyes and lifted her hand to cup Andromeda's chin. Her thumbs wiped away the trails and Hermione did the only thing she that came to mind, her lips pressing against Andromeda's smooth forehead. After a moment passed by, Hermione pulled back and knitted her eyebrows in confusion at the expression Andromeda had. The woman's eyes bore into hers, something _heated_ about her gaze, something _feral_ , though not malicious in nature. “I'm sorry, was that not okay?” Hermione asked. She was surprised when Andromeda's laugh rang out and she felt a bit uneasy when it sounded a little too similar to Bellatrix's. Andromeda caught her breath and turned to face Hermione fully. This intimidated the girl, but she felt herself oblige, trusting the older witch.

“You're asking _me_ if that was okay?” Andromeda asked incredulously.

Hermione didn't understand, couldn't understand what Andromeda meant by that and instead felt hands on either side of her face. The lips that had politely avoided her lips previously appeared to have changed their mind, pressing firmly to Hermione's own. Now she understood. Hermione's hands hesitated their movement before entangling themselves in Andromeda's gorgeous locks, her body responding faster than her mind could keep up. She hadn't felt anything like this when she shared kisses with her previous lovers, or at least not this powerful. Her needs, her desire had been sated by those mere kisses. With Andromeda, however, Hermione's need felt ravenous as evident by the growing wetness between her legs. The older witch leaned over Hermione, not quite on top of her, but not relenting in her ministrations in the slightest. Andromeda's propped herself up and held Hermione close to her, releasing the girl's lip with a wet pop. Hermione hadn't even noticed the suckling, but she _did_ notice the newly-acquired swelling of her lip. Neither witch knew what to say. Hermione was left wanting more but knew she wasn't ready for that, not yet at least. Andromeda looked ragged, her hair ruffled up and her lipstick smeared. Hermione still loved the sight. “What was that for?” Hermione wheezed, her lungs finally receiving the air they'd been so unfairly denied. The older witch's eyes closed then opened in an anxious fashion, and Hermione could only guess the woman was torn between regret and, well, not regret.

“I'm sorry, Hermione. I was wrapped up in my own emotions and it was incredibly inappropriate of me to have done that.” Andromeda whispered, her tongue wetting her lips. Hermione shifted her legs in an attempt at some relief, though her current thoughts of Andromeda tasting Hermione's chapstick did not help in the slightest.

Hermione shook her head. “I'm not sorry.” She said, a shy expression taking over her features. The girl idly wondered if it was just the nature of romantic endeavors for lovers to be shy since Andromeda adopted the same expression. That made Hermione feel a bit better about being embarrassed all the time.

“You are trouble, Hermione Granger.” Andromeda smirked, her teasing was innocent. “You make it hard for me to keep myself from kissing you again.” She cooed, stroking Hermione's soft cheek.

The young witch's heart melted then felt it soar, drinking in Andromeda's touch. Hermione leaned into it and batted her eyelashes, mimicking the same pout Bellatrix had worn earlier. “Then don't stop yourself.” Hermione husked, and lips were upon her in the same hungry need as before. This kiss was shorter, but held the same amount of passion as the other one did.

“Trouble indeed.” Andromeda laughed, wrapping her arms around the girl. Hermione felt safe in her arms and allowed the witch to lay them down, nuzzling Andromeda's jaw with her nose. Andromeda sighed above her and ran a hand through Hermione's curls. “I need to return to dinner soon.” Apparently Andromeda found her struggles humorous because she exhaled what sounded like a chuckle after she cut off Hermione's protests. “I must, little one.”

Hermione could only relent, unable to persuade the woman otherwise. She decided to just enjoy the attention she was receiving now, her eyes shutting when the warmth became too hard to fight against. Each rise and fall of Andromeda's chest worked in tandem with Hermione's breathing, that simple act alone almost lulling the girl to sleep. Her sleepy arms fought hard to cling to Andromeda's dress, but in the end, Hermione lost herself to sleep. With the Gryffindor asleep, Andromeda slowly peeled herself from Hermione and draped the bed's blankets over her sleeping form. “Good night, sweet girl.” Andromeda whispered, placing a final kiss to Hermione's lips. Andromeda excused herself from the bedroom and hurried back to the dining room, stopping to fix her appearance first. She returned to the room and as expected, no one had moved since Hermione and Andromeda's departure. She couldn't help but wear a grin as she took her place at the table, suddenly starving. Narcissa was giving her a calculating look, but Bellatrix's expression was the most interesting one. Hard, cold eyes devoid of anything stared at her, scrutinized her hair, her lips.

“Your lip is bleeding.” Bellatrix said, and Andromeda raised a hand to the betraying part, realizing her sister was right. Andromeda pressed her napkin against her lip in an attempt to blot the wound. She would be repaying Hermione for that later.

Glass shattered and Bellatrix's head cocked to the side, her eyes snapping and her jaw in its clenched position. Andromeda raised her occulumency shields almost immediately after, cursing Hermione's assistance in letting her guard down. “First I have to dine with three blood-traitors and then I am insulted with that _thing's_ presence come to find out you're snogging her!” Bellatrix shrieked, at her feet in an instant. “You don't deserve to be in my presence.”

Andromeda only waved her off. “Whatever relationships I find myself do not concern you. They never have and they never will.”

If looks could kill, Andromeda would be dead thrice over. Bellatrix looked ready to break more innocent inanimate objects but Narcissa cleared her throat, drawing the attention of her sisters. “Please don't break anymore of my dishes, Bella. You know how mother loved them.” Narcissa admonished, though her lips were quirked in a devilish smile. Narcissa loved to agitate them. Andromeda could only assume it was because of her nature, being the youngest and all.

“Then I'll make sure to ruin each one.” Bellatrix promised, though her words lacked venom when she spoke to Narcissa. Her stiff posture did not relent when she turned to Andromeda and said, “You're doing it again, Andromeda. You're choosing _mud_ over family. Do you not understand what that means to me? What it did mean to me?” Bellatrix murmured, coal eyes meeting Andromeda's brown.

Andromeda didn't have an answer for that. Thirty years later and Bellatrix was no closer to telling her what she meant by that. “I don't understand you, Bella. I loved Ted more than anything else in this world and you couldn't be happy for me?” Andromeda croaked. It felt like a dam that'd been built years ago started to finally break. “I am your family and you abandoned me.”

Hands gripped Andromeda's forearms and a cruel smile appeared on her sister's lips. “Don't you talk to me about _family_.” Bellatrix hissed. “ _You_ left us. You were supposed to love us and you abandoned us! You loved _filth_ more than you loved us.” _You abandoned_ _me_ is what Andromeda heard. Though her sister's grip never relented moments ago, Andromeda's soft grip on Bellatrix's arms seemed to calm her sister's rage. There was so much to be said in the meaningful looks exchanged. Bellatrix seemed barely stable and Andromeda felt too weak to continue this conversation.

“I did not know that you saw it that way.” Andromeda admitted. Her next move surprised her when she brought her older sister in for an embrace. Bellatrix immediately straightened and remained frozen for what seemed like forever. Andromeda's silent pleas seemed to be heard by whatever god existed because Bellatrix slowly returned the embrace. Not for long though, before Bellatrix quickly pulled away and fled from the room. The room returned to silence and Andromeda sat back down, bemused as ever. Narcissa summoned a wine bottle and poured what Andromeda could only guess to be her third glass of wine for the evening. Andromeda downed her own glass and held it out for Narcissa to fill, thanking her with a nod of her head. It was at this moment Andromeda noticed Draco's disappearance, having left once Bellatrix went on her tirade. Andromeda's eyes flicked to Bellatrix's plate and her mind wandered to a foreign place.

It didn't surprise her when Narcissa spoke. “I saw that too. I suppose our dear sister still holds a disdain for pineapples.” Andromeda could only roll her eyes in response, giggling as the tension left the room. Her sister joined her and they fell into easy conversation. Her eyes strayed to Hermione's abandoned plate and saw that she too left the pineapples off to the side in the same manner her older sister discarded them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! It's been a positive response overall and I'm pleased, but I crave those reviews! This was a LONG chapter and I'm curious to see y'alls thoughts. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> P.S. I have a general idea about where this fic is headed but I hope that you all enjoy this ride as much as I know I will :)


	4. Black Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a few errands to run. TW: Minor blood play and sexual content. All mistakes are mine.

There was a knocking at Hermione's door that roused the girl from her restless sleep. Hermione secretly hoped it was Andromeda coming to steal a few more kisses before the night's end. The young witch eagerly made her way across the room and tried to turn the doorknob only to discover that the door had no knob at all! Her disbelieving eyes examined where the doorknob once was and found the smooth texture of the wood instead. The knocking continued. Hermione could not find a hold on the door to pull it open and became frantic, dread filling her heart. “Help! Andy, I think I'm stuck in here!” Hermione called. Silence ensued when the knocking ceased. Hermione stepped back from the door and slowly pulled out her wand, feeling the mood change almost immediately. It raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “Andy?” Hermione tried.

Suddenly, the door flew back and caused Hermione to stumble back. Hermione raised her wand and cast a Lumos, her face contorting into horror when the light illuminated the stranger. Black ringlets that seemed a little too intimate in memory hung past the bosom of the woman in front of her, charcoal eyes void of anything emotions stared straight through her. “Your blood-traitor isn't here, Muddy.” Bellatrix affectionately cooed. The familiar twisted smile painted her trademark red lips. Hermione could only gawk at the infamous witch, though held her wand hand strong.

“You're not supposed to be here, Bellatrix.” Hermione warned, silently praying one of the other occupants of Malfoy Manor would be able to reach her before the situation turned sour. She watched as Bellatrix strode forward, uncaring of any set-forth rules she had been given. It seemed she had barely noticed Hermione's raised arm, a promise of a hex hanging in the air.

“ _You're not supposed to be here,_ _ **Bellatrix**_.” Bellatrix mocked, following her words a maniacal cackle. “No, _you're_ not supposed to be here. There was no kindness in her words, not empathy. No apologies.

Hermione steeled her resolve and wordlessly cast a Bat Bogey Hex, one that Ginny specialized in and help Hermione practice. It didn't matter how good of a teacher she had when Bellatrix flung a Protego with ease, the spell rebounding and striking a random wall. “What do you want?” Hermione all but yelled.

The same smile grew impossibly wide, crazy eyes drawn to Hermione's lucid ones. “I think it's quite simple. I want you to _suffer_.” Bellatrix hissed. Before Hermione could respond, the older witch pounced on her, knocking the two to the hard wooden floor. “You killed my master and made me directionless, you little bitch!” Bellatrix's hand stretched around Hermione's neck and pinned her down by straddling the young witch's waist, a knife already in her hand. The knife already carving in her skin. It hurt just as much as the first time if not worse, for Bellatrix spared no wasted dig or drag of her blade. Hermione wailed, screamed, cried, and by the time Bellatrix was finished, Hermione's voice echoed nothing but hoarse sobs. She could feel Bellatrix lean back up, admiring her handiwork her _art_ she crudely painted upon the girl's arm. It was shorter than last time, Hermione noted, but she didn't want to open her eyes this time. Hermione didn't want to feed into Bellatrix's insanity.

“Look at it!” Bellatrix shrieked, gripping the girl's hair and forcing her head to turn towards the bleeding letters.

How could one understand Bellatrix Black? Hermione's eyes had opened when the woman pulled, her scalp screaming at the tug, and she had whimpered when she took in the sight before her. An 'M' followed by an 'I' and then an 'N', Hermione's eyes paused on the woman's bent form. A tongue swiped over the oozing 'E' and coated white teeth with the blood. The depravity of it all sickened Hermione, but it also awakened something she had tried so hard to deny. But the girl couldn't ignore the sudden rush of wetness to her center, her legs involuntarily squeezing shut at Bellatrix's flattened licks. That seemed to not be missed by her torturer who could only moan in obvious delight. “What do you think, pet?” Bellatrix asked. The mad woman's eyes flared with life.

“I think...you're a bastard and you're beyond saving.” Hermione breathed, but she couldn't stop staring at Bellatrix's pupils. They looked blown, hungry, _wanting_ even, and Hermione didn't know if she'd be able to deny anything Bellatrix desired. Bellatrix seemed pleased at the girl's statement and arched back, her slender hand resting between her thighs on Hermione's stomach. The fingers slowly inched upwards and stopped at the feeling of Hermione's brassiere. Bellatrix felt the material and brought her lips together in a sneer, taking the bloodied knife and slashing through the cloth. Hermione's breasts laid exposed and she tried to cover herself with her non-injured arm, but Bellatrix easily pinned it back.

“Don't move.” Bellatrix threatened. Hermione would not move again. “I'm glad we understand each other then.”

Confusion held Hermione's tongue, stopping an endless assault of questions. One seemed too volatile to hold so it prompted her to ask, “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” Bellatrix hissed, “that you shouldn't devote your time in trying to save me. You think you can do anything, you filth! You know nothing about me!” The woman seemed hysterical, or well, more so than she previously had been and that was saying something since Bellatrix was just cutting into her moments ago. Hermione did not understand what she was referring to, tears falling and a whimper at her lips.

After her breathing evened out, Hermione's chest convinced Bellatrix to abandon whatever discuss she found herself launching into. The clang of the knife hitting the floor next to Hermione's head made the girl flinch but it was nothing compared to the feeling of hands on her breasts, almost mistakenly gentle in their exploration. Hermione's gaze fell to the one bloodied hand now staining one pale breast and she fought the thick liquid forming in her throat to go back down. Perhaps more disturbingly, Hermione found the sight admittedly erotic.

“Does the mudblood like this?” Bellatrix whispered, Hermione's stiff peaks responding for the girl. “She does.” Thumbs simultaneously flicked over the pink nipples of the girl under her and a choked sound rang through the room.

Tears continued to fall, from the ever-present pain or the unanswered desired pooling between her legs, Hermione didn't know. She couldn't speak. She could only feel. Bellatrix sighed at the flesh in her hands and leaned down to press kisses to each one, her lipstick marking her skin. Well, blood and her lipstick. Hermione was frozen as she allowed the woman to entertain herself, only reacting when lips were on her. Sweat beaded down Bellatrix's brow. _Torture takes a lot out of a person it seems_ , Hermione thought angrily.

“It does more than one might think.” Bellatrix replied coolly, her tongue darting to flick across Hermione's tender nipple. Hermione's hips raised to Bellatrix's unwillingly, a guttural moan escaping her throat. Bellatrix smirked at this and closed her lips around the peak, swirling her tongue over it. The pleasure drove Hermione insane and she momentarily wondered if this was anything like the madness that presented itself in her torturer. A wet pop announced Bellatrix's sated lips were finished in their experiment, the Black sister's tongue wetting them before pulling back in a victorious smile. No more words were said and Hermione found herself in a staring contest with the woman. Hermione felt like she was dying. She had come close many times and found it an all too relieving feeling, like falling asleep. Painful of course, but a dreamless sleep nonetheless. What happened next shocked Hermione and she had felt there weren't many things that could leave her in surprise like that anymore. Bellatrix took Hermione's wand, _her_ old wand, and dragged the wood over Hermione's wounds, leaving nothing but smooth flesh. It had not retained her previous ' _Mudblood'_ carving.

Soft yellow rays cast their shadow over the eggshell walls of Hermione's suite. Birds chirped and sung their songs, much to the girl's dismay. Hermione thought she should be overjoyed at the interruption of her nightmare, but she only felt empty. With the hold Hermione had on the goose down pillow below her head, the light of day revealed her blank arm. Hermione shot up with such a fright that she had gone mad! Surely she was still dreaming? Alas, her arm continued to project the same clear image as it had when Dream Bellatrix had healed her no matter how times she cast a reverse glamour spell, rinsed it in the sink, or left barbaric scratches. Hermione's body felt foreign to her, its traitorous feelings taking over her thoughts. _She_ _ **healed**_ me? Hermione asked silently. Her invisible audience met her with the same response. Hermione didn't believe, _couldn't_ believe it, yet her eyes weren't lying. Bellatrix _had_ healed her. Her arm was free of any evidence and left it a smooth porcelain surface, although now red with Hermione's nail marks.

A forceful blast of water hit Hermione's face and she cursed the coldness before it started to dispense a warm shower. Suds decorated the witch's body as she bathed herself, inhaling the hypnotic scent of the Nott Berry soap provided in her guest bathroom. She noted it was a pleasant sweet scent though not overwhelmingly so mixed with what she assumed was lemongrass oil. Hermione had noticed a variety of Nott Berry apple products in random rooms around the house and only guessed it to be testament to the Malfoy's wealth. Narcissa wasn't subtle, but she wasn't flashy about her wealth. She thought Narcissa only used the money for power, not for admiration. Hermione thought that better than the opposite. As she rinsed her body and her hair, Hermione continued to think about the blonde witch. Narcissa was just a quick-witted as her and she had to admit, Hermione didn't expect that of Draco's mother. With a husband like Lucius Malfoy, it was a wonder how Narcissa maintained such control. Hermione knew Lucius was a true pureblood in that he'd wish his wife to be submissive to him. The idea that Narcissa was not one to yield so easily aroused Hermione.

Groaning as she stepped out of the bath, Hermione wiped at her eyes to rid her mind of inappropriate thoughts. Especially inappropriate when she had just been tonguing the woman's older sister! _And the other older sister doing much more than that in my dreams_ , Hermione thought with such a cheekiness. Wandlessly, Hermione cast a drying spell and proceeded to get ready for breakfast. Andromeda had mentioned that breakfast was a less formal affair so Hermione decided to slip on a pair of pink and white stripped pajama bottoms since her previous shorts were a slightly inappropriate length. Her silk shirt, however, was just fine. Hermione pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, her side bangs framing her oval face. She decided to slip on her pastel yellow robe and tied its strings around her waist, setting off down the hall after. The halls welcomed her too eagerly, Hermione thought, because she felt a sickness when she felt comforted here. Pampered, even. Hermione soon arrived to the dining room, already seating Narcissa but no one else yet. “Good morning, Hermione.” Narcissa greeted.

“Good morning, Narcissa.” Hermione replied. She took the same seat she had used during the previous night's dinner, diagonal to her current company. “How did you sleep?”

Narcissa lifted her head from The Daily Prophet's morning newspaper and appeared to be momentarily surprised at the question. “I slept well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Good. Fine.” Hermione murmured, her fingers still in disbelief as they felt for the scars no longer there. Hermione eyed Narcissa for a moment and wondered whether she should ask her about her dream or not. Obviously leaving out the unnecessary parts, of course. Narcissa held her gaze and something prodded in Hermione's mind, almost politely, as if knocking on a door to seek an approved entrance. Hermione knew this was Narcissa's cast Legilimency, but allowed her to see _only_ what Hermione wanted her to see. Hermione avoided the erotic parts of her dream and sighed when she felt Narcissa's spell exit her mind. Narcissa's strong hold on the newspaper had wrinkled it and when the woman noticed it, she ran a smoothing hand across the pages.

“She healed you.” The statement could've been taken as a question, but Hermione knew Narcissa meant it as that, a statement.

Hermione nodded. “I don't...understand how. I wasn't aware she could still cast spells.” Hermione said, measuring Narcissa's reaction cautiously.

“I did not realize she could cast that kind of magic at all. Bellatrix has never been a skilled healer, at least not as gifted as me.” Narcissa said, after a moment's thought. Narcissa had called Pinky to fill the table with a variety of breakfast classics and morning coffee, though surprising Hermione when she prepared Hermione's cup herself. The youngest Black sister poured in two scoops of sugar, then small pour of homemade vanilla creamer, placing it in front of Hermione. “You seemed impressed, Hermione.” Narcissa commented, leveling herself across Hermione once she took her seat.

Hermione took a sip and sat the cup down to its plate with a clink. “How did you know my coffee preferences? That's not public knowledge, I think.” Hermione said, scrunching her nose at the thought. She was famous, after all, at least in the magical realm, and her along with Ron and Harry did experience some of the more upsetting parts one must deal with in terms of fame. There were crazy people out there.

“I was visiting a bookstore a couple years ago, when I believe you and my Draco were in your fifth year at the time, and I had walked to the small coffee lounge next door. You and your friends were in line in front of me. I overheard your order.” Narcissa said simply, copying Hermione's previous actions and taking a sip of her own coffee.

Black, of course, and Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought. “And yet you still remember that years later?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Of course.” Narcissa smiled, as if that was a _normal_ memory to have. A memory of some random girl's coffee preferences. Hermione shook her head and continued to savor the taste of the coffee Narcissa prepared for her. She noticed, for the first time, just how softer the witch looked. When the trio had been captured by the Snatchers and Hermione was subsequently tortured, she remembered how hollow Narcissa had been. That was the one time Hermione witnessed a clear expression on Narcissa's face. Horror. Pity. Something breaking. It was an interesting contrast to the contented, but worn look on the woman's face now.

Andromeda was next to arrive after a few minutes had passed, dressed in a purple velvet robe with her initials embroidered on the robe's pocket. Hermione didn't have to the brightest witch of her age to surmise that purple was indeed the middle Black sister's favorite color. “Good morning, Andromeda.” Hermione welcomed. A dizzying feeling overcame her and only heightened when her new lover flashed her a bright smile.

“Good morning, little one.” Andromeda murmured.

Hermione's lips cast a bashful smile in response. Her reaction did not go unnoticed by Draco or his mother, but neither felt the need to comment. A loud snap penetrated the air as Pinky the house-elf appeared, her magic materializing a plethora of breakfast goods that bore a passing resemblance to morning meals served at the Burrow before returning to the kitchen. Hermione briefly wondered what her friends and family would think about it all- the dreams that plagued her, the lips that drew her, the boundaries she had crossed since her arrival. Thankfully, the ladle offered a moment's solace from her thoughts, but Hermione was sure they'd flood back at some point. Narcissa poured a thick oatmeal into Hermione's bowl without spilling so much as a drop, abandoning the ladle into its pot once she had served the girl. Hermione thanked Narcissa and felt guilt settle uncomfortably on her stomach. From the rare conversations Hermione overheard about Draco's mother, she'd gleaned a sophomoric evaluation of the woman: Cold, unaffectionate, and unrelenting. Two lies and one truth, it seemed.

Where one might think the blonde cold (as Hermione believed prior), she thought her calculated and cautious to trust. That made sense to her since the woman had assisted and lived with some of the lowliest of ne'er-do-wells. The unrelenting aspect was true though. Narcissa was a proud woman and stubborn in some ways. Hermione found herself admiring the older witch's determination. And where one found Narcissa unaffectionate, her care for Draco would always prove them wrong. In the little time Hermione had spent with her, there were examples of just how Narcissa cared for her son. Though she hadn't had the opportunity to explore all of the manor, Hermione had found a few letters addressed from the Black sister to her son. The temptation to read instead of return the private note back to its place had been overwhelming and it touched Hermione to see that Narcissa was as warm as anyone would expect a mother to be to their child. It reminded her of how much her mother cared about her. The sinking feeling did not cease. Did her parents truly forgive her for her actions? No one would ever truly know exactly how many memories were lost due to the spell's influence, but her parents' reassurance hadn't comforted her.

A hand rested on her knee and fingers tenderly stroked the flesh. Hermione met Andromeda's concerned expression with a reassuring smile. She shoved a spoonful of white mush into her mouth to ease her lover's worries. _Lover?_ Hermione blushed. Since when did she start considering the woman at her side to be her lover? Something they needed to talk about perhaps. “Draco, would you like to accompany me to the shops? I have some things I need to pick up.” Hermione invited, hopeful that trip would provide her an opportunity to get to know him better.

Draco's spoon paused its teeth-grinding scraping of his bowl, his eyes leveling with Hermione's. _He's suspicious of me_ , Hermione thought with annoyance. However, maybe she'd feel the same way if he had proposed the idea to her. “Sure, why not.” He said finally. The scraping continued. It paused indefinitely when his mother flicked his head.

“Hermione, do you think you could pick up a book for me from Obscurus Books? I've already arranged a payment so all you'd have to do is swing by.” Narcissa asked.

“Of course! What book did you order?” Hermione inquired before she could stop herself.

Narcissa's eyes lit up. “The Etymology of Incantations by Howard Zwisewald. A rather boring read for most.”

“Unfortunate for them then, I reckon? It's a very useful text to return to when understanding and practicing wandless magic.” Hermione said, retrieving some orange slices from a platter. Juices gathered quickly and overfilled her mouth, causing a couple droplets to spill down her chin.

As Hermione dabbed herself with a napkin, Narcissa only leaned forward with her head resting in her hand. The woman seemed to approve of her statement. “I take it you've read it? I'm surprised since it's not an easy find nor is it a required textbook for classes.” Narcissa said.

There was something about the way that Narcissa worded herself that caused a shiver to crawl up Hermione's spine, but she still stirred an excitement the girl wasn't used to. At last, Hermione found someone just as passionate about knowledge as she was. Hermione turned her complete attention to the blonde and missed the subtle grip Andromeda had reinforced on her knee. “Not all of it. It's hard to find it in a first edition format,” Hermione paused, “and you're right, Narcissa. It isn't required, but should that stop me?”

“Heavens, no. I believe that those who seek out knowledge hold the true power in their hands. A wand is only as useful as its caster's ability and the same goes for wandless magic. It's something most mature witches and wizards struggle with.” Narcissa replied. An indecipherable expression bore no answers to Hermione's questioning eyes. They were playing their own game of chess, but each move gave nothing away to the other. At least that's what Hermione hoped, unwilling to continue the thought of when had Narcissa's opinion of her became so important to the girl.

“It's true. Wandless magic is the most powerful form of magic itself.” Andromeda chimed in.

“Do you think anyone could ever master it?” Hermione asked.

Narcissa placed a hand over her mouth in deep thought, staring off into space before reanimating. “I think it would be nearly impossible to do. I imagine it takes one as long as a year to manage some of the spells first-years are typically taught, but for a lot of others it takes longer. Years for those who wish to cast the more high-level spells.”

The two continued to converse over the subject much to Hermione's delight. The blonde had procured a letter, signing it and stamping it with the Black House Sigil, a document of verification. Hermione watched as Narcissa's smooth scrawl went across the paper. Narcissa was captivating; her proper words, the way Narcissa considered Hermione's counterpoints and responded with her own, it all impressed her. Sure, Harry and Ron were smart in their own rights, but they could never hold a conversation about an obscure book the way Narcissa could. Narcissa slid Hermione the paper and nodded her gratitude one last time. When they reached a natural lull in their talks and Narcissa and Andromeda began to start their own, Hermione noticed the absence of the eldest Black sister. “Is Bellatrix not eating with us?” Hermione asked.

Narcissa and Andromeda glanced at each other, but the former of the two spoke before Hermione had time to analyze the unspoken discussion. “We felt that you might want to limit your...interactions with our sister, at least until you have to after the party.” Narcissa explained.

“I don't wish to disrupt your schedule or anything,” Hermione started, placing her empty muffin wrapper on her plate and folding it over, “I'd be fine with Bellatrix attending. I shouldn't have ran off yesterday. It just feeds into it.”

“Are you sure, Hermione? You're our guest, after all. I'd be remiss to provide you an unexceptional stay.” Narcissa murmured.

Hermione watched as the blonde's fingers tapped on the rim of her cup, possibly in nervousness, Hermione thought. “It's no trouble to me and you've been more than wonderful, Narcissa. You've made the stay all the more enjoyable.” The girl swore she saw Narcissa develop a redness to her otherwise pale face, but the blushing woman chose not to acknowledge it and instead called for Pinky. An invitation was verbally expressed to the house-elf who apparated away, appearing again moments later.

“Mistress Bellatrix did not say anything to Pinky. Mistress only screamed.” Pinky whimpered, holding her bulbous head in her hands. Hermione frowned at this and looked on in horror as the house-elf started to punish herself, her arms swinging wildly as she slapped herself.

Hermione quickly knelt to the elf and grabbed Pinky's wrists in one hand, her other gently caressing the small being. “Pinky, you did nothing wrong.” Hermione said softly. The elf's tugging ceased and only trembled in her grip, large tearful eyes looking up at her in reverence. “There is no need to ever punish yourself like this, even if you had made a mistake. None of us are perfect.”

Pinky looked to Narcissa as if she needed confirmation to those words, but Narcissa was too focused on Hermione, lips parted in shock. Draco and Andromeda wore matching expressions. Hermione felt all eyes turn on her and she couldn't bring herself to feel embarrassed. Pinky was subservient, a being who had no true free will. At the very least, the elf deserved no mistreatment. She wondered how Narcissa dealt with Pinky when the elf was like this.

Calloused hands slipped into Hermione's and drew her attention. “Does Mistress Hermione truly mean that?”

“Of course! And you're allowed to call me Hermione, you know.” Hermione chuckled, scratching behind her ear much like Narcissa had done the previous night. Pinky sighed at the gentle touch, almost even forgetting herself and leaning into it. Narcissa cleared her throat and Pinky came out of her bliss, nodding her thanks to the group and dismissed herself.

Narcissa was watching her. “I can see why people look to you for leadership. You have a way of making people feel like they are more than themselves or their worth.” Narcissa muttered, akin to how one would talk to themselves alone in a quiet room. Hermione could only blush at the compliment and took Andromeda's arm when offered, the witch appearing by her side.

“Everyone deserves basic rights.” Hermione replied earnestly, a slight shrug rolled from her shoulders. “Draco,” she turned to face him, “I'm going to get changed and we can go then?” Hermione suggested.

“At your leisure.” Draco murmured, exiting from the room to change himself. Narcissa smiled at this although Hermione did not know why. Andromeda led them from the room in a peaceful silence. Hermione leaned into the woman's side and sighed contentedly. Sometimes the walls of the manor felt oppressive and Hermione imagined it had to do with the remnants of what had transpired there months ago. Being around Andromeda certainly helped.

They arrived outside of her suite and Andromeda held her hands in her own, staring at them with a soft smile.

“I don't suppose I could come in, could I?” Andromeda asked.

Warmth spread over Hermione as the question touched her heart. “Of course, but only for a moment. I can't have any distractions.” Hermione murmured, but she didn't miss the mischievous glint in Andromeda's eyes.

“How could I distract you?” Andromeda said, biting back a cheeky grin.

The women entered the room and Hermione looked through her clothes, pulling out simple black robes, much like her Gryffindor ones save for no House logo embroidered on it. Andromeda sat on the bed with her appreciative eyes drawn to her, her leg crossed over the other and kicking her foot lightly. “Can I braid your hair, Hermione?” Andromeda asked. Hermione nearly tripped over herself at the odd request, but decided to oblige. She sat beside Andromeda who shook her head, pulling Hermione into her lap. “That's much better, isn't it?” Andromeda murmured, her hands resting on Hermione's waist.

“Whatever you need.” Hermione managed, thankful that Andromeda couldn't see the heat blossoming in her face. Andromeda's fingers found themselves overlapping handfuls of curls. Hermione wondered how she could manage the girl's hair better than she could. Andromeda voiced an approval when her hands finished their work, returning to their previous position on Hermione's waist. The mirror across the room allowed Hermione to take herself in. She smiled at the professionally-crafted design, two braids forming a 'V' at the back of her head. “Thank you.” Hermione whispered.

Andromeda pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Thank you for letting me.” Her lips continued to pepper kisses along the length of her neck, Andromeda's hands wandering down the side of Hermione's covered thighs. Hermione leaned into it for a moment before gently resting her hands on the older witch's, bringing them to her lips and placing her own kisses. “We should talk before dinner.” Andromeda sighed, leaning her head against the back of Hermione's.

“A good talk?” Hermione asked, turning in Andromeda's lap to face the woman.

Andromeda held Hermione close to her and flashed her a cheeky smile, one that reminded her of Tonks. _Of course she'd get that from her mother_ , Hermione thought. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Depends on what you say. I know it's good on my side.” Andromeda said.

The position Hermione found herself in did nothing to quench the wet yearning her center emitted. Her knees were pressing against the soft sheets on either side of Andromeda's lap, Andromeda's hands had gripped her hips. Hermione wanted nothing more than to drag herself against her lover. She felt like a bitch in heat. Brown eyes widened and Hermione realized she had been so distracted by the intoxicating woman that her mind was wide open. Andromeda looked similar to how she had the previous night- _starved_. In a swift motion, Andromeda had flipped positions, leaning over Hermione. Needy kisses gifted her mouth and Hermione couldn't deny entrance to the tongue that swiped at her lips. Andromeda's hands rested on either side of her head, the woman sighing in between each kiss. Her purple robe had come undone in the process of moving Hermione under her, revealing a white nightgown. Though the color was solid, Hermione spied stiff points through the fabric.

“You need to practice Occulumency,” Andromeda panted, “I could teach you if you wanted.” Hermione hardly heard her, her mind reeling. Andromeda only laughed as Hermione struggled to push away lewd thoughts, her lips on her again. The two witches continued their sinful dalliances until Hermione placed a hand to Andromeda's chest.

“Draco is expecting me any moment now.” Hermione muttered, her voice laced with regret.

Andromeda rolled over with a pout that sent Hermione into a fit of giggles. The woman seemed to notice her opened robe for the first time and cleared her throat, tying the string around her a bit tighter this time. “My apologies. I shouldn't have escalated things, especially since we haven't talked yet.” Andromeda apologized, her fingertips tracing Hermione's jaw.

“I didn't mind.” Hermione admitted shyly.

A beautiful smile appeared on Andromeda's face then disappeared as she groaned. “You're too much, my dear.” Andromeda chuckled, tempted to continue her tonguing. The older witch stood and pulled Hermione with her, checking to make sure she hadn't undone any of her handiwork. “Alright, hurry off. Each moment I spend without you is a moment that lasts forever.”

Hermione only nodded. The words were said with such an affection that pleased Hermione. No one had ever spoken to her like that. With all that said and done, Andromeda left and Hermione missed her immediately. She checked herself once more in the mirror before finding Draco and departing Malfoy Manor with him.

Even though Christmas had passed, Diagon Alley was filled with all manners of life. The two Hogwarts students walked along the cobblestone streets, passing Christmas carolers who sang a jaunty tune. _How peculiar_ , Hermione thought, though it wasn't abnormal for the holiday spirit to extend to New Year's. Draco's face scrunched up at the jovial scene, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black winter coat. Hermione regarded him for a moment. The boy looked so much like Narcissa. Pity that he had his father's nose. They soon found themselves outside of Obscurus Books, the two-story shop that lied on 18a Diagon Alley. Similar to Ollivander's, the bookstore held a thin layer of dust. Hermione reckoned few patrons perused the store, peeking into the window and seeing a handful of souls that were passing through. Draco made an announcement to wait for her outside and asked her not to wait too long. It was chilly.

Hermione strolled inside and the invisible bell alerted those inside to her arrival. Walls of books with small gaps between each row greeted her. Hermione almost forgot her errand until a man with graying hair appeared behind the counter and beckoned her to him. His light brown mustache hung the slightest bit over his lip and Hermione found it hard to look away, meeting his eyes once she made her way to the counter. “What can I do for you, youngling?” His deep voice gruffed.

“I have been sent to pick up a book for Narcissa Malfoy, oh sorry, Narcissa Black.” Hermione said, her hand reaching into her robes. She handed the note Narcissa had written her and waited patiently as the storekeeper verified the letter with a Revelio spell, his wand emitting a light blue vapor from its tip. As she waited, she spied the wizard's name tag barely clipped on through his sweater reading 'Lewis'.

“Alright now, it appears that we have another book for Ms. Black. It was due to arrive in a few days but lucky for you and your Mistress, it's already in.” Lewis said with glee, turning his back to his customer and lifting up an old hatch built into the floor. Hermione watched as Lewis headed down the ladder into darkness.

He reappeared a few minutes later with a chest, black trim on brown wood and a thick metal lock enchanted on its latch. “Might as well bring this up as I imagine I'll have a very busy day ahead of me.” Lewis said to himself, grunting as full force of the ancient chest's gravity weighed on him. He sat the chest on the floor and threw the trapdoor's hatch down all while kicking the chest to the side. Lewis wiped his brow and muttered a spell on the chest's lock. It came undone and flipped open.

The shopkeeper grabbed two books and shut it, locked it, then returned to Hermione. “Here we are: 'The Etymology of Incantations by Howard Zwisewald' and 'The United Kingdom's 28: A Guide To House Bonds And More by Annaliese and William Black. An interesting read those pureblood house books and journals are and well, really any manuscripts relating to it.” Lewis commented, then considered for a moment. His hands brushed over the cover of the House of Black's book, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Actually, I've never been allowed to read the House of Black's. Some pureblood families allow free access, some give limited, and then some have absolutely banned anyone outside the family and its chosen few from reading it.” He added as an afterthought.

“I'm assuming the Blacks chose the last option.” Hermione stated.

“Correct.”

“I'm not surprised. They're one of the more...traditional houses.” Hermione murmured, grabbing the books and placing them into the cotton bag Lewis had materialized.

He reclined and crossed his arms, a small smile at his lips. “If Madam Black trusted you to even know about the book's existence, I dare say one would think you're a chosen few.” Lewis winked.

Hermione's eyes went wide with confusion. Lewis made sense but she wouldn't know why Narcissa would think to choose her. The mystery of her invitation to stay now seemed multilayered. Complex. Something more than what one would meet with the surface. She expressed her gratitude for his service and left the store. For the first time in Hermione Granger's entire life, she had left a bookstore without browsing the entire store's collection. She met a pink-faced, shivering Draco and pulled him quickly into the Leaky Cauldron. The small, dingy venue held a number of patrons who swapped gossip like it was a game of Hot Potato. Tom the innkeeper manned behind the bar, busied himself by polishing his glassware. Draco and Hermione took a seat at a small oak table nestled in a corner of the dim room, shedding their outerwear.

“Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. What can I get ya kiddos?” The waitress chirped. Her faux customer service attitude bothered Hermione.

Draco lifted his menu up and scanned quickly. “Would you like to share a steak and kidney pie and have a butterbeer, Hermione?” He asked.

“Let me check my coin purse.” Hermione murmured, opening the small red pouch. She had just a few galleons. Hermione inwardly groaned and sheepishly looked at Draco. “It seems I forgot to stop by Gringotts again after I did my Christmas shopping.”

“That's not what I asked.” Draco said.

“Well, I can't afford-”

“I'll pay.” Silence.

“Alright. That's more than fine, thank you, Draco.” Hermione said after a moment.

The waitress dashed away and Draco stared after her before he realized he was leering, immediately looking away and occupying himself with his signature Slytherin tie. _Does any of his family wear something other than green or black?_ Hermione joked to herself. _Andromeda wears purple at least._

"Hermione, do you think it's possible you could help me with something?” Draco asked so quietly, she might've missed it if the room had been the slightest bit louder.

Hermione eyed him. “Depends on what it is.”

Draco continued to fidget with his tie. “I need your help with, well...” He trailed off. He seemed torn on asking for the girl's help.

“Tell me, Draco.”

“I need your help to convince my mother to allow me to leave after Hogwarts.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You already said you were moving to France though.” Hermione said.

The Malfoy heir sighed and dropped his tie, the waitress appearing and setting their drinks down in front of them. “Your pie will be out in a few, honeybees.” She said cheerily. Her smile was fake.

“My mother is against the idea and I don't feel right leaving her like that.” Draco admitted. It was sweet how he cared for his mother and Hermione couldn't help but appreciate Narcissa that much more. Hermione lifted her butterbeer to her lips and took a swig, the sweetness coating her tongue so pleasantly. Perhaps she should help the boy. People tend to grow bitter if they have been denied their dreams. Hermione's mind drifted back to a conversation she had with her lover's daughter, Nymphadora Lupin. She remembered laying in her bed at the Granger House, Tonks laying parallel to her. It had been the first time Tonks had met her parents, the summer after the events at the ministry during her 5th year.

“I don't want to be an auror anymore, 'Mione.” Tonks had said, her eyes bleary with wetness.

Hermione nuzzled her head into the girl's neck, her arm slung over Tonks' midsection. “Then leave. What do you want to do instead?” She asked.

Tonks shook her head. “It's not that simple. There's so much pressure to be something. I partly come from a pureblood family. A tainted family at that. I want to rebuild our reputation.”

“Your reputation is not nearly as important as your happiness.”

The voice sounded defeated.“It's not that simple.”

“I know, but it's worth the hardships you'd face.” Hermione sighed.

Steak and kidney pie turned out to be more delicious than Hermione had previously thought. Draco seemed to agree, having devoured his half of the pie. “Have you considered it, Hermione?” Draco asked. Hermione nodded and rested her clasped hands on the table tapping her two index fingers.

“I will help you, Draco, on one condition.” Hermione offered. She got the reaction she expected.

The blonde sighed and narrowed his eyes, unexpected but not truly surprised by the girl's request. “What is it, Granger?” He spat, but it held no real venom.

“Help me pick out presents for your family. I'll hunt for your gift on my own.” Hermione said.

His pale eyebrows lifted up is disbelief, his pie forgotten in his opened mouth. Draco continued his chewing and nodded his head after a minute. “As you wish. May I ask why?” Of course he was curious. As far as Draco was concerned, Hermione had every right hold grudges against his family. Especially him. Draco watched as Hermione finished off her butterbeer, setting it on her plate and pushing the dishes to the side.

Hermione leaned in. “They've been so nice to me. It's only fair.” Hermione murmured.

The boy seemed satisfied with her answer and paid once the waitress made her rounds. They left the Leaky Cauldron and explored a variety of shops after first visiting Gringotts. Hermione had tried to repay the blonde boy but was met with a refusal each time she insisted. Draco had pointed out another bookstore, Hermione pictured it as the one Narcissa had exited when she learned of Hermione's drink order since she had recognized the familiar coffee shop attached to it. He helped her pick out a new book.book about potions. His mother was a very skilled healer, after all, and he mentioned that she enjoyed the process of stocking her own medicine cabinet. The next shop they visited was a jewelry store for Andromeda. Hermione spotted an Amethyst nestled in the holdings of a black metal ring and quickly called Draco to her side. He gave his approval and then left the shop with her, feeling a growing tolerance for his companion. Draco watched as Hermione darted into another store, presumably for his present, and the girl returned to him shortly. Hermione paused outside of the building and watched as the snow flurried past their faces. Hermione checked her watch. It was mid-afternoon and it seemed the sun was close to setting, only serving to chill the pair even more.

“Let's go, I'm starting to ice over.” Draco complained.

“One more gift.”

Draco's confusion was evident. “You've got all the gifts haven't you?”

“I haven't forgotten Bellatrix.” Hermione replied.

He gawked at her. Draco's aunt had just insulted the girl less than twenty-four hours ago and here she was bracing the cold for the right gift. He shook his head to himself. Draco _really_ didn't understand the Gryffindor. “I'm not sure what she'd like, but we can try Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. It's basically a thrift shop.” Draco said.

They reached their final destination and entered the warm, stony building. The room smelled of rust and age. The newly-acquired pieces developed more of a light opacity of dust, a stark contrast to the ones that sat in the store for what Hermione could guess to be years. There were a few wizards looking about, searching for something valuable among the items. Draco and Hermione split from each other and searched their own sections. Tucked away in one of the corners of the shop laid a large, emerald chest. It looked older than the chest Lewis had brought out earlier, and Hermione identified it as a Quidditch equipment box. She felt the need to investigate. Hermione made her way over to the chest and opened it, her face blanching once she recognizes the logo on the latch. It was the same sigil Narcissa had stamped on her envelope. Hands lifted the lid of the trunk and she was surprised to find it belonged to the very person she was shopping for. Hermione would've called for Draco if the store hadn't been as large as it was, so she cast a Patronus to guide the boy back to her. He appeared a few minutes later looking at Hermione in confusion.

“You want to buy my aunt Quidditch equipment? How did you even know she played?” Draco asked incredulously.

Hermione did not have an answer, so only shrugged in response. “I didn't. I just noticed this and it belongs to the Blacks. You can see her name carved inside the lid just as much as I can. Do you think she'd want it back?” Hermione asked.

“She's a bit old for it though, isn't she?” Draco bit back a smile.

The girl rolled her eyes and laughed, playfully pushing Draco. “One is never too old to revisit some old hobbies.” Hermione said.

With that, she decided to purchase the chest for a ridiculous amount in the form of fifty galleons. _She better use this_ , Hermione thought in annoyance. She couldn't help but feel swindled. At least the shopkeeper charmed the chest to fit in her pocket until she took it out again. It would have been terrible if they had to carry that bloody thing. The two exited the shop and stood off to the side of the main street. Draco took Hermione's arm in his and apparated back home.

The thing that made Bellatrix's day begin on a bad start was the house-elf. She felt undignified, insulted, that the mudblood had _allowed_ her presence at mealtimes. It was horrid enough Bellatrix was locked up with her blood-traitor family, but even worse was their _bold_ acceptance of that girl. Even as far as choosing to become romantically involved with the filth. Bellatrix's stomach lurched at the thought. It would only defile the Black bloodline more. There weren't many UK purebloods to mingle with so pureblood houses weren't strangers to co-mingling within their own familial lines. Marriage of first cousins were often, although the chance of having Squibs as children became significantly higher when this was practiced. This only meant one thing. Their blood was _precious_.

Bellatrix had been belligerent towards the house-elf and she couldn't bring herself to care. That being was beneath her, lived only to have the honour to serve her. If she analyzed her feelings over that matter past the surface level, there was, albeit small, part of her that regretted her actions. Even then, one could argue the effects from being used as such a powerful being's horcrux had its lingering effects. How much of her hatred was of her and of Voldemort, no one could discern, not even Bellatrix herself. She had decided after she dismissed the elf that she would not attend breakfast and instead would receive her food at her room. The elf seemed eager to leave yet upset that she'd have to interact with her mistress more than she had to. Bellatrix's mouth gnashed bitterly at the biscuits and sausage the elf delivered to her that late morning. Bellatrix decided she would attend dinner only to warn the mudblood of what she'd do if the girl attempted to exert some kind of power over her. That _Bellatrix_ held the reins in this weird tethered connection between them. She was in **control**.

The mad witch was occupied with tying her corset when she was alerted to a knock at the door. Bellatrix's littlest sister strolled in and she felt something stir in her, something akin to longing. Bellatrix slowed her looping and turned partially, if only to see Narcissa more clearly and heard the woman sigh. Her sister looked tired, hurt, lost. Bellatrix broke her stare, unable to meet her gaze. Beauty, Bellatrix thought, showed most in Narcissa. Perhaps her sister's name was fitting, as one would have to be a narcissist if they looked like that. Narcissa's hair hung out of her face, clipped on the back of her head as usual, her breakfast attire exchanged for simple black wizarding robes. “Why didn't you come to breakfast? We invited you this time after much complaint yesterday.” Of course her sister was still sour about her tantrum.

Bellatrix put on her wicked signature grin. “Well, you see, Cissy,” she started, crossing the room to her sister, “I felt it was quite rude of you to let the mudblood thing she has some power over me in my own home.” Bellatrix huffed.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes and took the corset's strings from her sister, lacing up the back. “She is a guest in _my_ house, as are you. I give you the option to roam freely in my home in great opposition to the Ministry. They were wanting you to be watched around the block. They only allowed your limited freedom due to it violating my own privacy.” Narcissa said with an edge to her voice.

“Right, right, and it's not like I have the same requests as your other _guest_. You wouldn't make her stay in her room if I asked.”

The blonde witch pulled the strings tighter, much to the displeasure of her older sister. It took the air out of Bellatrix's lungs. _Bitch_ , her mind thought aloud.

Narcissa clicked her tongue in distaste at the name-calling. “You're not allowed to insult my guest. Especially when she agreed to help you.”

“Help me? How?” Bellatrix hissed.

The blonde tied over the strings in a beautiful braid, dropping it from her grasp. Narcissa took a seat on the windowsill of the bay window that overlooked her manor's garden. Her eyes examined the gardener's daily maintenance and arrived at the idea to install a decorative fountain. Maybe Hermione would like to read with her out there by such a beautiful object. She banished those thoughts from her with a harsh shake of her head. Narcissa gestured to the cushioned chair sat across from her to which Bellatrix obliged, then shifted to face her older sister. “I've struck a deal with the Wizengamot.” Narcissa murmured.

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. “What are the conditions?”

Straight to the point, as always. “Part of the Minister's rehabilitation program's ex-convict's agreement with it is that rehabilitated wizard-folk retain a trace, the same trace the underage have until they're seventeen. I asked how true freedom was obtainable for someone with as large as a wrap sheet as yours.” Narcissa recounted, crossing her leg over the other. Bellatrix straightened to attention at this and she leaned forward, her eyes shined with what Narcissa believed to be hope.

The older sister took a moment to piece together a coherent thought, her mind racing. “How does the mudblood fit into this?” Bellatrix asked.

“ _Hermione_ ,” Narcissa stressed, rolling her eyes, “will go down as one of the most respected witches in history. I can't explain to you the reverence I see in the people who interact with her. Her testimony outweighs any pureblood house by threefold.” Bellatrix opened her mouth to give a nasty response but found herself shushed. “And before you say anything, I'm including the Noble and Most Ancient house of Black in that as well. She is a good ally to have.”

Bellatrix glared at her. “Always the strategist aren't you, Cissy?”

“Maybe the smartest if you don't understand how dire your situation is. You can't live in a cage forever, Bella.” Bellatrix heard the softening of her sister's voice. “You're like your Patronus- a panther in a cage cannot had any quality of life like that.”

She looked away from her sister and shut her eyes. Narcissa was right, of course. Bellatrix was already mad enough, but these walls had become tiresome. Her mind needed excitement, it needed change. “So what exactly is the girl supposed to testify over? She's already given her testimony.” Bellatrix wondered.

“We will review your memories and personally rehabilitate you. Once the trial period is up, the Wizengamot will administer you some Veritaserum and see if you truly regret your actions.” Narcissa said, her eyes dropping to the floor.

“There's more.” Quiet filled the room.

“Yes.” Narcissa murmured. It looked as if she truly pitied the information she was about to share. “You'll be working for the Ministry for a period of a decade, in whatever form they need you in save for combat, unless you wish to enroll in it.”

Narcissa saw the flash of yellow coming and dodged it easily, the hex dissolving into the wall behind her. The blonde swiftly pulled out her wand and aimed it at her older sister, no hesitation in its grip. Bellatrix snarled and shrieked, standing to her feet and kicking her chair back. She felt pain from the charms placed on her wand from the probation's agreement. Her body spasmed for a single second, but it still hurt like hell. Casting spells like that used reinforcement as punishment. Then she became enraged. Her master was dead and the only way she could earn her true freedom was to betray his legacy. Or that's what she told herself, anyways. She chose not to acknowledge the uneasiness of the idea of the mudblood wriggling around in her minefield of a mind. “I would rather waste away here than ever abandon my prestigious post as the Dark Lord's hand!” Bellatrix exclaimed. The words felt rehearsed, as if they were someone else's words ingrained in the mad woman's mind. No one had to guess whose they'd be none other than Voldemort's himself.

“I know you don't believe that. Why can't you try to start over?” Narcissa asked, but there was desperation in the words. Bellatrix met her sister's gaze and found the pleading blue eyes that diminished any anger that threatened to unleash upon her.

Bellatrix's shoulders slumped and her face was dressed in weariness. “How can you ask me to give up my beliefs and trade some shackles for another?” Bellatrix questioned coldly. She slid her wand into her hair and rubbed her dominant arm, discovering a slight cut as evidence of her punishment.

“Because you are given a life sentence if you choose to do nothing now. If you change and return to the person I knew as a young girl, you only have to spend ten years in service to them. Then you're completely free, even of the trace. As a sign of good faith from the Minister, he's written into the agreement that your trace disappears as long as you are in the list of approved countries per his order. That's a better deal than anyone else is getting, especially in your case.” Narcissa said, her eyes catching the single droplet of blood appearing from Bellatrix's minor wound.

Bellatrix allowed her sister to murmur an Episkey spell, her wand's tip gently dragging across the cut. She wasn't used to such tenderness, but Narcissa was an exception. Though she was much harder to read as an adult, Narcissa idolized Bellatrix when they were young girls, cared for her older sister beyond belief. Bellatrix's loyalty to family was outmatched by Narcissa's. Just being related to Bellatrix costed the blonde witch so much, but she never abandoned her. Not even when Bellatrix drove away their other sister. The thought curdled and soured in the pit of Bellatrix's stomach. Andromeda was still her sister overall and she never quite got over her decades of loss. She'd even accept Andromeda if she apologized and realized what she'd done. Perhaps that's why Bellatrix had returned that hug the other night. Andromeda had at least began to understand why Bellatrix felt the way she did.

Long fingers rested on her wrist and Bellatrix held her gaze to Narcissa's in a dominating manner, expecting her sister to break the intense stare. Narcissa did but not because of any pressure to do so. Blue eyes dropped to red lips and Bellatrix's instinctively wet them, eliciting a sigh from her younger sister. Her own eyes shut when she felt hands that were too soft, too loving caress her face. Bellatrix couldn't help but lean into her sister's touch, going as far as to nuzzle her cheek into her sister's palm. Bellatrix towered over Narcissa's short body and for that reason, Narcissa had stand on her tip toes to place a kiss to the other woman's lips. Her hands snaked around Narcissa's waist and held her close to her, deepening the kiss. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to kiss someone who wanted to kiss her. Who she wanted to kiss. The familiar mouth chased Bellatrix's desperately, pleading her to reconsider. In the end, Narcissa would get what she wanted. The woman was one of the handful people that could wear Bellatrix down to get what they wanted from her.

All of a sudden Bellatrix was stripped of her clothing and she gasped at her dress that fell at her feet. Fire had burnt up the ladder-like lace that ran up the back of her corset. “You destroyed my favorite dress!” Bellatrix pouted.

“I'll buy you another.” Narcissa breathed, shedding her dress. The blonde witch hooked her arm as her companion admired her body in unashamed lust, sweeping the woman off her feet. Bellatrix's hands held Narcissa up by her thighs and dropped her on the bed. She made quick work of removing her sister's undergarments, placing kisses to her thighs before removing the cursed panties with her teeth. Narcissa's fingers wrapped around black ringlets below her, her hips moving on their own involuntary urge. Bellatrix could only praise whatever god existed when she saw the look Narcissa was giving her. “Will you do it for me?” Bellatrix heard her sister ask. The blonde looked so vulnerable, afraid. Bellatrix would do anything for her, and she supposed it wasn't like it wasn't a tempting offer anyways.

Bellatrix swallowed. “I will try.” She said simply.

When Narcissa smiled at this, her lips quickly shaped into an oval, for Bellatrix had plunged two fingers into her wet depths.

Draco and Hermione wore snow on their shoulders though fortunately, none of her purchases had gotten wet. Andromeda greeted them at the door and Hermione could tell she was interested in where she had been. Draco offered to take her bags to her room but she shook her head since Andromeda had asked to speak to her alone anyways. The Black sister took some of the shopping bags into her hands and followed Hermione back to her suite. Upon arrival, Hermione began to disrobe, leaving her in a simple pink shirt and jeans. Andromeda placed the load onto the bed and soon slipped her arms around Hermione, a smile already at her lips. “I missed you.” Andromeda whispered against her ear.

“I was only gone for a few hours.” Hermione laughed at the pout that formed on Andromeda's lips.

“It felt like a lifetime. What did you get anyways?” The witch asked, her chin resting on Hermione's shoulders as her curious gaze landed on the bags laid upon the bed.

Hermione slowly reached over and pulled out the potions book for Narcissa along with Draco's gift which was an emerald green leather bound journal. Hermione thought he might appreciate something to write in when he eventually moved to France. She had also purchased him a new quill set to go with it. She threw the miniature chest onto the bed and watched as it returned to its normal, heavy size.

The young witch explained each gift and moved towards the trunk, Andromeda still attached to her. Her fingers skimmed over the smooth surface of the trunk. “I don't know how I found this but it seems to have belonged to Bellatrix. It costed a pretty coin but do you think she'll want it back?” Hermione asked, unsure of her choice in gift.

“You have the most beautiful heart I've ever seen, Hermione.” Andromeda murmured, turning Hermione around and in an instant, her lips were connected to the girl's.

Hermione's body responded with a press against Andromeda's, heat quickly building between the two. “That's not what I asked.” Hermione said in between kisses.

Andromeda's laugh sounded magical. “I don't know how she'll react, little one, but I remember how wrecked she was when our father threw her equipment out. She nearly killed him.” Andromeda said. The girl shivered and nuzzled her head into Andromeda's neck, the woman who happily tightened her embrace around her young lover. “Let's not get carried away again. I'll help you wrap these gifts and we can talk.”

Nervousness filled Hermione's stomach. She felt it flipping as she pulled away from the older witch. The two pulled out wrapping paper and got to work, Hermione privately wrapping her gift for her lover when the woman was distracted. The cutting of wrapping paper always sounded pleasing to Hermione and when Andromeda did it, it soothed Hermione's worries. “So...the talk?” Hermione asked.

“I will not pressure you to be in a relationship with me. At any moment you wish our relationship to return to a platonic one, I'll accept it. But I know that I wish to court you.” Andromeda announced, her shoddy taping skills evident as random paper bits laid open.

Hermione used extra tape to pin the wrapping down. “I wish for you to court me. I haven't regretted anything yet.” She reassured the Black sister. Andromeda's eyes met Hermione's and she felt so much care from the simple look.

“Then it's settled. There are a certain traditions that purebloods follow,” Andromeda said, peeling tape stuck to her finger off, “and I'd like to follow it in my endeavors with you.”

“What traditions?”

“Certain etiquette. A formal announcement as well as a social party to give the Sacred Twenty-Eight families a chance to meet you. Then if we reach a certain point in our relationship, we make a vow.”

Hermione felt slightly uneasy. “The Unbreakable Vow?” Hermione asked. The two women finished their gift-wrapping and settled on the bed.

Andromeda shook her head. “A union vow. Such spell-work is sacred to pureblood families. It's one of the strongest bonds able to be formed by magic.” She explained.

The Gryffindor gathered the gifts and placed them on top of the wrapped trunk, Andromeda holding one side and Hermione the other. “I wouldn't mind something like that eventually.” The girl said after a while, a blush still on her cheeks. Andromeda smirked. It was so easy to overwhelm Hermione.

The new, unofficial couple lifted the trunk and headed to the Malfoy House's library where stood the family's massive Christmas tree. The tree would likely stay up until after the ball, Hermione only assumed, and then Pinky would probably be the one to dismantle it. Magic was handy, after all. The lights lit the tree in a beautiful hue, small portaits hung upon the tree, each a family member's. They sat the presents down and stacked them haphazardly among the other gifts that laid unwrapped. “You all did not even open presents?” Hermione looked surprised.

“Narcissa and Bellatrix had business at the Ministry, which is why we couldn't celebrate on Christmas. I believe that visit is part of the reason Bellatrix is upset.” Andromeda guessed, tucking Hermione's arm around hers and leading the girl towards the hall. “So we wanted to wait until after that business was finished, but then you came and so we've put it off a bit.”

Hermione found herself nodding. “Well, I'm happy I get to spend another special day with you.” She said shyly.

“Every day is special when I am near you, my sweet.” Andromeda replied smoothly.

Stumbling, Hermione caught herself before she fell. The redness that was already in her cheeks grew darker, Andromeda's laughter sounding through the air. The lovers found themselves alone in the dining room and took their usual seats, the young pouring herself a cup of black tea. They made casual conversation for the next several minutes before Draco made an appearance. “Are you going to help me now, Hermione?” Draco asked, taking a seat across from her and fiddling with his tie.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. “Help you with what, dear nephew?” She asked.

“Trying to convince Mum to let me leave.” Draco said.

It didn't seem to surprise Andromeda. “Hm.”

Hermione glanced from her lover to Draco and nodded, reaching over to take his hands into hers. His tie stilled. “Of course, Draco. Don't be so nervous.” Hermione reassured, squeezing his hands lightly. Draco smiled and although it was tight from anxiety, she could tell it was still genuine. Narcissa entered the room a bit hurriedly, notably fidgeting with her dress. It was a snug black dress that came down to the woman's mid-thigh and Narcissa wore an emerald robe over it, darkening its color all the more. The blonde witch took her seat and smoothed her skirt down, pulling the sleeves of her robe back.

“I apologize for my tardiness, I was preoccupied.” Narcissa said, not meeting anyone's gaze and summoning Pinky. A marvelous chicken appeared in front of Hermione; it was flaked with a rosemary garnish, its skin a delicious honey brown glaze. To the left of the cooked bird laid a charcuterie board, filled with Nott Berry apple slices, red grapes, a variety of crackers, Italian meats, and a number of cheeses. Hermione had never been so famished. It seemed like Hermione would never fill her plate by her own hand since Andromeda took it upon herself to serve her this time. The older brunette organized Hermione's plate as if she was making a sample dish. It was portioned incredibly well, just enough of everything to get a true taste.

Hermione blushed once Andromeda sat her plate in front of you. “Thank you, Andromeda.” She murmured.

“What did I tell you earlier? Call me Andy.”

“Sorry, Andy.”

The girl averted her gaze just in time to land on the growing form of no one other than Bellatrix Black herself. The eldest sister wore a tight corset over a black lace dress, similar to the one Hermione had seen her in before, but with subtle differences such as the metal hole rings that held the laces were now a matching black metal unlike the other dress that had silver rings. Bellatrix's hair almost looked fluffy and the Gryffindor guessed it was due to a recent shower. The black, partially graying ringlets looked as soft as sheep's wool and Hermione felt stomach flutter at the acknowledgment. She might've asked to feel the hair if she knew the response to such a request did not end terribly. Hermione was dealing with Bellatrix Black, after all. “Evening all!” Bellatrix announced. “I reckon I got a bit bored of staring at the walls of my cushy cell so I thought I'd find you lot more interesting.” The woman fell to her chair with an unceremonious plop, her boots kicking up onto the table's corner on Andromeda's side and resting over the other foot.

“We are about to eat, you slob!” Narcissa scolded, her wand in her hand and flashing a jolting spell towards the boot.

It left soot on the heel and Bellatrix removed her legs from their position, narrowing her eyes at her little sister. “Damn you, vile witch! These types of shoes are hard to come by and I won't have you ruining them!” Bellatrix yelled.

“Hush now and eat your food.” Narcissa said with a roll of her eyes.

“You're just like our mother. Ridiculous rules designed to make my life hell.” Bellatrix said with a growl, throwing her hands up dramatically. Hermione thought the tantrum was akin to a small child's.

Narcissa waved off her sister's words, not bothering to respond to such a statement. Hermione's eyes wandered to Bellatrix throughout the meal every so often. Well, as often as she could catch a time when Bellatrix was distracted. The raven-haired witch did _not_ eat like a pureblood and Hermione wondered if this was some lasting habit from Azkaban, eating as much as one could before they'd eventually starve for a period of time. Meal shipments were typically late to the sea-surrounded tower, merchants and sailors feared the island. Though nowadays with the dementors gone, hopefully that problem was a thing of the past. They all ate in silence and Hermione was enjoying a bite of chicken when she felt a tap on her foot belonging to the blonde boy. His gave her a slight nod of his head to which Hermione responded with one herself.

“I wanted to talk to you about something, Mother.” Draco murmured, his hand shaking his drink in his hand ever so slightly. _Wine_ , Hermione thought. He needed all the courage he could get. He wasn't a gryffindor, after all.

“Yes, dear?” Narcissa asked, catching Hermione's eyes. Hermione flashed them to Draco instead, swallowing hard. Hopefully this went well.

Draco ran a hand down tie and sat straighter, turning to face his mother. “I wanted to ask you for your blessing to move to France.” He said.

“No.”

“But Mother-”

“Draco, I thought you wanted a job at the Ministry. I do not understand why you are throwing that away to run off. You will have responsibilites once you are out in the real world.” Narcissa stated, no room for argument. She received none from her son, though to her surprise, Hermione felt the need to provide her input.

Hermione cleared her throat and all of a sudden, all eyes were on her. “I'm sure the Minister has connections to the French government's office. I wouldn't be surprised if they even had an English faction in their ministry.” Hermione suggested, quickly stuffing her mouth with another piece of chicken once finished with her speech.

Blue eyes squinted and the girl felt she was being assessed. “It is too far away from his family which is where he needs to be.” Narcissa said.

“I'm not happy here.” Draco murmured.

“You can grow to tolerate it.”

“Perhaps Hermione is right, dear sister.” Andromeda tried.

“Stay out of this.”

Hermione rested a hand on top of Narcissa's and those eyes snapped to hers once more, fear appearing like a secret in its depths. “Narcissa,” Hermione said, her thumb brushing the back of the blonde's hand, “Draco deserves a life better than his current mediocrity.” She saw the witch suck in air, but Narcissa held her tongue, prompting Hermione to continue. “We all deserve a chance to rebuild after everything.”

The words seemed aimed towards something, an earlier thought she had. _Even Bellatrix was allowed more than she deserved. Surely she'll allow the same of Draco_ , Hermione thought loudly. She had felt the prodding in her mind again, although this time it was less friendly. Narcissa's resolution slackened, her shoulders falling before her lips uttered a sigh.

“I suppose you're right, Hermione. Forgive me, Draco. I have lost so much already and it feels too soon to lose you as well.” Narcissa murmured, her hand moving to cup her son's cheek.

Draco shook his head and placed his hand over Narcissa's. “You aren't, Mum. I'll still visit as much as I can. I'll miss you too.” He admitted.

Hermione felt her heart ooze with affection as she watched the mother and son stare at each other for what seemed like a lifetime. She returned to her dish and fell into an easy conversation with everyone but the witch at the end of the table who seemed unable to keep her eyes off of her. Hermione felt Bellatrix's heavy gaze on her. She felt like _prey_. Her fingers brushed where her scarring had been and those eyes flickered as if they were thinking about that moment as well. But Bellatrix never muttered so much as a single word after her entrance, instead choosing to stab at her food. _She's certainly sour today_ , Hermione thought. She smiled a bit. When the Ministry took the venom out of Bellatrix's bite, she seemed less threatening, more immature. Hermione wouldn't let her guard down though. The eldest Black sister would still harm her physically, even without magic. She was mortal, after all. “I have a confession to make. Today I went Christmas shopping for you all and I thought tonight after dinner would be a good time to maybe open them?” Hermione asked hopefully.

Narcissa lifted her brows in surprise but nodded, taking a measured sip of her wine. “Of course, Hermione. You did not have to go through all of that trouble, though I admit I did run an extra errand today with Andy and we got you a little something.”

“Well, you didn't have to do that either! It was my pleasure.” Hermione said. When her eyes met her enemy, ex-enemy she reminded herself, she found a curiosity that replaced the hatred she typically found in them. And if she were as mad as the woman she was staring at, she'd almost say there was excitement bubbling under the woman's ever stony expression.

After dinner, the family and Hermione returned to the library. Draco and Hermione took a seat on the floor by the tree while Narcissa and Andromeda reclined on a brown leather couch off to the side of it. Bellatrix rested in a matching arm chair appearing bored as she looked at her nails. Hermione and Draco handed out the pile of gifts to each recipient, saving the large red and gold wrapped trunk as the last item to be carried over to Bellatrix who looked at it with a slight uneasiness. The girl assumed the witch thought she wouldn't get her anything. It wasn't an uncommon thought in the room. Her sisters and Draco were equally surprised. The blonde heir was the first to open gifts, receiving clothes from Andromeda and some sweets from his mother. He smiled at Hermione's picks for him, thanking her. Bellatrix had gotten him a Black family crest tapestry made. It made Andromeda gasp when she saw her reappearance on the family tree, Bellatrix's approval knitted so clearly onto the fabric. Bellatrix said nothing to the gratitude her sister expressed.

Hermione went next. She learned that Draco had shopped for her when she was picking up his mother's books from Obscurus' and she felt a tenderness grow double in size for the Slytherin. “Thank you, Draco. It's beautiful.” Hermione gaped at her gift. Nott Berry perfume was expensive, much more than a single apple itself due to the fact that several had to be used in the process of making the scent. Liquid swished around in a lavender bottle held in Hermione's hand. It smelled like the body wash she had used that morning. Narcissa and Andromeda had picked out a few dresses for the young girl, some a bit more provocative than Hermione was used to. She blushed and thanked them. Hermione wasn't surprised at the lack of gift from Bellatrix.

Narcissa and Andromeda opened their gifts together, delighted at the goods they received. The middle sister gazed at Hermione with such an adoration, the amethyst ring slipping onto her hand and its charm allowed it to conform to Andromeda's ring size. She felt satisfied by the action, the knowledge of _her_ ring claiming her lover's hand. Narcissa beamed so heavenly when she opened Hermione's gift that it almost made the girl faint. Bellatrix rolled her eyes and pushed her hair out of her face. “You're so easy, baby sister.” Bellatrix muttered, but her words sounded teasing. Hermione enjoyed her like this. Docile, tolerating. There was a tension there, oh yes, but it made it more bearable to the people around them. “I suppose it's my turn then?” Bellatrix sighed.

Her sisters had commissioned a painting for Bellatrix of all three of them, although appeared much younger in the picture. Bellatrix's expression was foreign to Hermione. She almost looked heartfelt. There was an envelope taped to the back of the canvas and Bellatrix peeled it off, looking in its content. Pale fingers pulled out a yellowed paper, her eyes lighting in recognition. “It's mine?” Her voice sounded hopeful. She turned the envelope over and a key fell out into her hand. It was an ornate key, tarnished and old, but the gold casing could still be seen.

Narcissa nodded. “I had it notarized at the Ministry Christmas Day during our errand. If things go according to plan, Black manor is yours.”

Bellatrix nodded and smiled. She _smiled_. Hermione thought it was the first time she saw the witch smile that wasn't at the expense to others. These sisters were almost too much. Too beautiful, too witty, too mesmerizing. _Like sirens_. It made Hermione blush. Her thoughts had distracted her from seeing what Draco had gotten his aunt but it must have been acceptable because hadn't heard any complaints from the woman yet. That left her gift. She watched as conflicted fingers hesitated at the bow, delicately pulling at the knot. The silence was deafening and Hermione swore everyone could hear the heavy thudding of her heart. What would she think about the gift? She couldn't know, not until the moment came. The emerald green trunk's lid was opened and Bellatrix paused her movements, as if someone had cast a freezing spell on her. Her eyes met Hermione and something slithered around the charcoal, something that wasn't quite sure of itself. “Where did you find this, Muddy?” Her voice held no venom despite the use of the slur.

“Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. I wasn't sure what to get you but it...called to me. Like I was meant to find it.” Hermione supplied quickly. She was slightly caught off guard when Bellatrix never interrupted her, only furrowing her brow in thought.

Bellatrix hummed and picked up the golden snitch, its translucent wings snapping open. It knew her touch. Hermione surmised that the snitch was significant to the witch in some way and hopefully soon, she'd hear Bellatrix tell her why herself. Bellatrix gave her no inkling as to what she thought about the gift. When the older woman took out her wand, Hermione almost voiced a protest believing Bellatrix intended to destroy it. However, nothing changed save for the size of the trunk, Bellatrix then pocketing it. “What? I'm not carrying that bloody thing up those stairs. I'd end up breaking my back trying to do that at this age.” She said simply when met with questioning stares. That ended the gift exchange and Bellatrix was the first to retire, not bothering with goodbyes. Hermione's heart ached at the loss. Still, it was a better reaction than she expected to receive. Draco and Narcissa were the next to leave and it left Hermione alone with her lover. The two returned to Hermione's suite and Andromeda swept her into an embrace, lips already upon her.

“Have I thanked you enough yet?” Andromeda said in a husky tone. Her teeth nipped at Hermione's bottom lip.

Hermione only nodded. She couldn't think when Andromeda kissed her. Her body responded for her and her lips parted, Andromeda eagerly slipping her tongue to stroke Hermione's. The wall met Hermione's back as Andromeda pushed into it, a hand resting on her lower back as the other held her chin. The older witch laughed at the reaction she received and forced herself away, slightly panting. “You'll catch all manners of insects if you don't close your mouth, little one.” She teased. The girl's mouth snapped shut and she turned her head embarrassed. Andromeda tilted her head back to face her, placing one more kiss to her lips.

“You're very good at that.” Hermione breathed.

It earned her another laugh. “So are you. I expect we'll get some good practice out of each other.” Andromeda flirted.

With reddened cheeks, Hermione smiled shyly. The two held their position for a few moments more before Andromeda checked the time. “Leaving so soon?” She inquired.

Andromeda looked remorseful. “Unfortunately, I have an early start tomorrow. Perhaps we could get lunch together?” The woman suggested, a smile replacing her previous frown.

“Of course.”

“Then it's a date.” Andromeda replied happily. She pulled Hermione in for one more embrace before departing.

Her heart soared. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she felt this type of passion, this type of eagerness felt when she thought about the woman. But if she were honest with herself, she felt two similar feelings budding for unexpected people. Hermione wasn't sure what to make of the situation. While wearing a torn expression, the girl shed her robes and pulled on a long night blue nightgown, nestling under the soft covers of her cozy bed. Her mind wandered to Bellatrix. She hoped she enjoyed the gift. How coincidental it had been to have found that chest. Something nagged at Hermione. Too coincidental, though maybe she was being paranoid. Having been on the run at a time had its lasting effects. Those thoughts were for another day, however, as the exhaustion from her busy day overtook Hermione and sent her into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely reviews, keep em coming! Lots of dialogue this chapter, hope y'all enjoyed. :)


	5. Upon A December's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes a visit to the library followed by a...date?! Secrets are kept and secrets are revealed. Enjoy.

Bellatrix did not visit Hermione Granger in her dreams that night. The curly-haired witch stretched her arms above her head and yawned, sunlight pouring through the blinds on the window and illuminating her caramel eyes. She squinted and rolled over to sit upon the edge of the bed, her hands brought up to her eyes to rub the sleep from them. The room was warm but not comfortably so. She had worn the thick comforter all night and hadn't sweat. It should bother her, all of it- living in the lap of luxury, entering an entanglement with Andromeda, lusting after her _sisters_. All of it was just too much. Hermione sighed and put on some everyday clothes, pulling over a sweater in case it was snowing when Andromeda her went to lunch. Hermione slipped her wand into her jean's pocket the headed down the hallway. She stopped by the kitchen to see food already displayed on the dining room table, but no other sign of life. It seemed they weren't all dining together that morning, Hermione frowned at this. She picked up a muffin and ate as she stood, her hands breaking the bread piece by piece. The blueberry pits were always her favorite part of that kind of muffin. Hermione continued to eat in silence, her thoughts drifting. She discarded the wrapper onto one of the plates laid out, seeing Narcissa's and Andromeda's plates used already. The girl walked down the hallway and found she was feeling something strange. Hermione missed Andromeda. She'd even admit she missed Narcissa's presence that morning too.

When Hermione arrived at the library, her eyes grew big as she took in it. It was a large, rectangular room that held five long rows of double-sided bookshelves. Black velvet table runners stretched and covered the top of the wooden furniture, all manners of ancient relics and what Hermione presumed to be familial heirlooms littered it. She spied a small raven statue, a book weight she assumed, pushed against a half-filled row of healing-related material. Hermione went through each section, each row until she had mostly memorized where all the categories were. She pulled a book from the medicinal section about scarring, another from the somewhat-lacking shelf of literature about dreaming and how magic affected it. However, the girl found one book that at least somewhat addressed the topic. It seemed that the Black family didn't have much patience for Divination, much like Hermione held distaste for Professor Trelawney's class. She sat down at a large study desk and turned on the gas lamp sat on the ledge of the desk's shelf, its light casting an orange-yellow hue on her features. Hermione began to start her search.

After a couple hours, Hermione found herself bent over another book, having read two other additional pieces since the first two. The book about dreams did not procure much information for the young witch. However, it did confirm that not many studies have been done on how magic affects one's dreams and vice versa. It was a peculiar thing. Hermione remembered her conversation with Narcissa and frowned. The blonde made sense -Bellatrix was a great fighter both in offensive and defensive positions- but if she really wasn't that great of a healer, then how was Hermione's arm as clear as the day she was born? Hermione paused. A thought she hadn't considered had her running towards the third row of shelves, standing on her tiptoes as she careened to find a book. _Blood magic, of course!_ Hermione thought. She had learned the scarring was cursed when she visited Madam Pomfrey her first week back at Hogwarts.

_“Oh dear, Ms. Granger. Nothing like this should ever be inflicted on a child.” Madam Pomfrey had said._

_Hermione's eyes never left her arm. “It still bleeds. The skin around hasn't healed over. What's wrong with it?” She was afraid._

_Madam Pomfrey murmured a number of spells and held Hermione's wrist in her hand, her wand pointed at the scarring. When the nurse-witch uttered one specific spell, the red scarring turned black. The witches could see the blood move through her, but it too was black. Her arm_ _**burned** _ **.** _Hermione had cried out and fell to the hospital bed, ink-like blood slowly oozing from the wounds. Madam Pomfrey put a cloth over the bleeding word and with another spell it stopped._

_“What happened?” Hermione asked, tears ran down her face._

_Her healer looked grim. When the blood had coagulated, Madam Pomfrey peeled back the saturated cloth and examined the painful cuts. They looked just as fresh as they had the day of their creation. “I'm so sorry, my dear. I had to see if you had been afflicted and now I am quite sure of it.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Your wound has a curse bound to it. It's a spell I've been fortunate not to encounter so far. I can only assume the witch who gave you this is the same who created the spell and is possibly the only one who could remove it.” The nurse-witch sounded so apologetic and Hermione understood what she was saying. Bellatrix Black had to be the one to heal her._

Hermione shook her head from her thoughts. It was nearly lunchtime and Hermione decided to put away each book, her head hung low. She was disappointed. Her literature adventures were typically much more yielding in results. The books she had gathered about blood magic pointed her in the same direction as Madam Pomfrey- to the maker of the spell. Hermione had ulterior motives for coming and that had been the main reason, to get Bellatrix to remove it. What she did not understand was just so easy it had been. Equally as traumatic. Hermione's eyes scanned over her arm, shivering as she remembered the new word Bellatrix had carved. _Mine_ , Hermione recalled. She briefly wondered whether or not Bellatrix in her reality had consciously healed her. The woman still held a deep prejudice for half-bloods and muggles so she couldn't imagine Bellatrix consenting to perform such an action, but she couldn't imagine the witch doing it anyways and she had.

As she made to exit the library, Narcissa's early arrival laid flat on an identical desk, although this one seemed to be the blonde's favorite, various pictures of the mother and her son scattered on the desk's shelf. Hermione found one photograph in particular that made her heart drop. Three sisters stood in front of a large tree, the youngest with her head resting on her eldest sister's shoulder. Hermione could see their arms interlocked. The brunette sister stood off to the side, but her hand was still connected to her older sister's, the fingers laced much like the girl's corset. The Black sisters looked incredibly young and Hermione assumed they were near her age. The women hadn't changed much appearance-wise, save for Bellatrix who stood in the middle. The Bellatrix in the photograph kissed the top of Narcissa's head and Andromeda's cheek before regarding the camera with a smirk. Hermione ran her fingers over the photograph. Goosebumps spotted her arms. Beautiful. Heavenly, even. Hermione blushed at the thought and sat the picture frame down in its previous position.

Hermione scanned the room for any life and when she felt reassured, she sat down at Narcissa's desk and opened the pureblood tome. The book was unlike anything Hermione had ever read. House-specific practices, stories, spells, all things magic-related. Family secrets. Hermione avoided those particular pages, focusing on the task at hand. Perhaps Bellatrix had added her own invention to the book. While the girl had not found what she was looking for, she did find Bellatrix's own notes about other spells the witch had crafted. Most of them dark in nature, but surprisingly a few that ranged from transfiguration to charms. She pulled a piece of paper from one of the drawers and took a pen out of her pocket, quickly copying some of the spells. It was when she had slid the folded paper into her pocket and returned to reading that Hermione heard a throat clearing behind her. The girl almost came out of her skin. Her fingers flipped to a random page and held her place, slowly turning around to see an amused Andromeda watching her with her arms crossed. “Snooping, are we?” Andromeda asked, adopting a playful sternness to her. Hermione hung her head in shame and nodded. “What have we here?”

Before Hermione could move the book out of her reach, Andromeda's hand stilled the movement, picking the book up and examining the page her young lover had been so enthralled in. The older witch let out a surprised cough, her breaths caught in her throat. Hermione saw reddened cheeks when she met Andromeda's gaze. “More than a little light reading this is.” Andromeda murmured.

Hermione looked at the new page she found herself on and her jaw dropped, wishing nothing more than to simply not exist anymore. “It's not what you think!” Hermione tried, but she could tell Andromeda did not believe her, a smirk already at the woman's lips despite her own shyness.

“You're trying to make me believe you were reading about ritualistic sex as part of your daily reading?” Andromeda laughed. She approached Hermione who failed to meet her eyes, gently cupping her chin to look at her. “My, my, Hermione. you're naughtier than I thought.”

Their mouths joined in an instant, Andromeda lifting Hermione with ease on to the desk. Hermione hooked her legs around the woman's midsection and pulled her closer, her lust-clouded brain abandoning its previous task. The Black sister's thirst seemed unquenchable. Every kiss Hermione had shared with Andromeda had been hungry, needy- something that made Hermione feel wanted. Oh, only God knew how badly Hermione wanted her too. Her womanhood begged for attention and the pressure build there only intensified when she pushed towards Andromeda with a whimper. Andromeda's hand rested on the underside of Hermione's thigh and gripped it as her own body responded with a push of her hips. The gryffindor had never heard a more beautiful sound than the moan that fell from Andromeda's lips.

“I imagine we will need to stop soon otherwise I won't be able to.” Andromeda exhaled, her tight grip on her lover unrelenting.

Hermione only pouted. Rationally, the girl knew they should stop but that didn't mean she wanted to. “One more kiss?” Hermione asked.

Andromeda swallowed and nodded once, placing one tender kiss to her lips. Hermione deepened it and felt Andromeda's grinds pick up. Her center was impossibly wet and she knew she had soaked through her panties. Hermione's hands met Andromeda's and teasingly edged them closer to her bosom. The older witch's eyes widened. “Hermione, I-”

“It's alright, Andy. You can touch if you want to. I want you to.” Hermione whispered.

That was all Andromeda needed apparently, because in the next moment she was holding two handfuls of soft cloth-covered flesh. Hermione felt the sigh emitted from the woman and matched it with one of her own. Andromeda's hands made her feel giddy. Unreal. The hands removed themselves from her breasts and inched up her shirt. They were cautious in their movements, more for Hermione's sake than their own. The young witch pulled her brassiere straps under her arms and pulled her shirt up to reveal a simple white bra, a tiny bow placed in the middle of the garment.

“Bless the gods, Hermione.” Andromeda praised, causing Hermione to hide her face. Andromeda pulled her bra down and exposed the girl's breasts, unable to stop herself from sighing at the sight. The older witch pulled her lover's hands from her face, a mouth eager to claim, then kissed down Hermione's chest. Andromeda pecked breast and boldly took a nipple into her mouth. Hermione's back arched and she felt more wetness coat her legs. She begged for any kind of relief in the form of whining and Andromeda obliged by slipping her knee in between the girl's thighs. Hermione moans filled the library and Andromeda immediately placed a hand to her mouth, effectively hushing her. “We don't want anyone coming in now, do we?” Andromeda chuckled, returning to her previous actions.

Andromeda's touch was becoming too much for her. It had been so long since Hermione had release and everything her companion was doing drove her into a frenzy. Her virginal sex controlled her, caused her to vocalize sounds Hermione had never voiced before. The Black sister pinched one nipple and rolled it between her fingers, her mouth enclosed on the other suckling it. The heat that had built in her center threatened to boil over with each flick of Andromeda's tongue-lashing. It was only when her witch rocked her knee so roughly into Hermione's sex that her climax hit its limit, her hips humping Andromeda's leg like a bitch in heat. Wet, rough jeans slowed their friction against a bare leg, for the witch had hiked her skirt off. Perhaps Andromeda had wanted to feel Hermione's wetness with it since her hands could not. Two bodies heaved in exhaustion, Hermione's eyes wild as she stared at Andromeda's closed ones. Her lover was radiant in the glow of the gas lamp adjacent to the couple, sweat beading down her forehead, down her neck. Hermione's eyes trailed over it, her tongue darting across her own lips as she imagined dragging it over those droplets. Her lover groaned. “Hermione, quiet your thoughts. I believe I've eased your needs, so do not become greedy.” Andromeda scolded, but the gaze she gave Hermione made the girl believe she wouldn't mind going further.

“Sorry. I can't help it.” Hermione replied earnestly. She truly couldn't stop those thoughts. Especially when there were thoughts of the woman's twin that lurked there. She'd rather have Andromeda see the embarrassing ones about her than Hermione's thoughts about her older sister.

“I know. You're so innocent, so pure.” Andromeda murmured, dropping her leg and pressing her hips into Hermione's one last time. Andromeda sighed and rested her forehead against her young lover's and smiled. “I'm rather famished. I don't suppose we could return to this another time and go get some lunch?”

Hermione blushed. “I'll need to change first.”

“I know.” Hermione could _hear_ the smirk in Andromeda's voice, could see it in the way she eyed the damp spot on the crotch of Hermione's jeans. “I'll meet you at your room in ten.” Andromeda promised, leaving a kiss on her muggleborn's forehead.

Her lover nodded her goodbye and left the soaking girl dizzy. Hermione had never had a climax push her that hard, to the point of coming completely unhinged. She decided not to dally any longer. Heavens knows who else could come in and find her in that compromising position. Hermione returned to her suite and cleaned herself. _Damn these teenage hormones_ , Hermione cursed to herself. Although she couldn't place all the blame on herself. Being around people who brought certain...thoughts to her head did not help in her resistance to give herself so willingly. A bubble of guilt made her stomach sink. What did Andromeda think of her now? Did she think of her as easy? Hermione knew she shouldn't associate that with negativity, but purebloods were picky. Judgmental, although if there were more pureblood wizard-folk like Andromeda, maybe they weren't as stuck up as she had believed. Hermione looked through the guest dresser for clothing. Green shirt? Too slytherin for Hermione's usual taste, but she decided the moss-colored top matched well with some pants hued with medium shade of mustard. With a sigh, Hermione met Andromeda outside of her room and the women used the Floo system this time, much to Hermione's delight.

Two witches found themselves in easy conversation. From an outside glance, one wouldn't imagine what erotic activities they participated in the hour prior. This was the first time Hermione had been to this quaint bistro branched off the main road of Diagon Alley. She had missed Andromeda naming said restaurant because she was too focused on keeping her eyes leveled with her lover's. Andromeda had changed into a maroon dress with a healthy amount of cleavage shown. Her robes covered it mostly, Andromeda had wanted to preserve some modesty of course, but not all of it to which Hermione leered at. Knowing lips perked into a smile and it caught Hermione's attention, who coughed and quickly took a sip of the tea Andromeda had ordered for her. It tasted bitter, but doused with sugar and it made a nice blended tea. Pastries and other baked goods wafted towards the women and much to Hermione's sheepishness, her stomach growled and Andromeda took that time to order them both raspberry-filled cream puffs. Hermione bit into one and white cream coated her cupid's bow, her tongue missing it in its swipe to clear off the rest of the mess. “You have something there.” Andromeda murmured. Before Hermione could reach for her napkin, Andromeda licked her thumb and wiped the cream off. The older witch popped it into her mouth and cleaned the excess off.

Hermione's head swam. She forced herself to look away from the erotic sight. “Thank you.”

Andromeda crossed her leg over the other. “I have decided I'll keep your secret from my sister. I think Narcissa would be displeased if you read her book without her permission.” She started, Hermione watched as she took a bit of her own cream puff. “I'm not upset with you. I haven't taken the time to define the nature of our relationship so it's only natural a curious little thing like you would seek it out for yourself.” Andromeda laughed, and guilt filled Hermione. She thanked whatever God had her back because if Andromeda had been as nosy as her sisters, Andromeda would've found out the truth. _But that shouldn't be a secret either_ , Hermione thought. For whatever reason, Hermione and Narcissa were the only ones who knew about the disappearance of Hermione's scarring and she almost felt that Narcissa didn't want to tell anyone else. She didn't have any solid foundation to build that theory on.

A hand waved in front of her face. “I think it's time for our first lesson.” Andromeda announced, shaking her head with a fond smile. The older witch withdrew her wand from her robes, gesturing for Hermione to do the same. “Occlumency is all about clearing your mind, Hermione. You have the basic shielding, but if I decided I wanted to peek inside I have no doubts I could penetrate your mind.”

Hermione shivered. “Clearing my mind, alright.” Hermione murmured, closing her eyes and forcing her mind to become a blank canvas.

“Alright, I'm going to try to enter your thoughts. You might feel a slight pressure.” Andromeda said. Hermione did not know how to tell her she already knew of the probing, of how it pushed at the walls she threw up. She only nodded in response.

The erected walls held strong against the small tapping, a wisp of an attempt. The interrogative tapping grew into a knocking, until it eventually slammed against her walls with a thud. Hermione struggled not to reveal her thoughts, especially with the piercing stare of Andromeda's eyes on her. She saw those brown eyes narrow and with one final push, Andromeda had successfully broken through her barriers. Flashbacks of the library came forth to her mind, how dope-sick Hermione had felt from Andromeda's touch. She felt Andromeda's reach leave her mind and she hid her face in her hands. “Don't start.” Hermione groaned.

“I haven't even said anything yet.”

Hermione looked at her companion and glared at her, a pout at her lips. “Yet.” She repeated.

“I'm thinking about it too.” Andromeda admitted. Hermione felt a foot against her calf, the side of the heel rubbing ever so slowly. “You make it hard to control myself.”

Hermione exhaled. “Why?”

“You're irresistible.”

The heel-clad foot decided to depart her as quickly as it had came, leaving Hermione desperate. She wondered when they would consummate their relationship.

“Have some patience, little one. I will tell you now I do not wish to go any further than where are now until after you've completed your studies at Hogwarts.” Andromeda stated, looking apologetic as the words voiced themselves. “I know you are of age, but it would make me feel better. Age gaps aren't a problem for most wizards, much less pureblood families, but I suppose I feel as though I'm robbing you of your youth.” Andromeda winked, but there was something to her voice. Insecurity, maybe.

“I am of age, Andy, you're correct. You shouldn't feel guilty for this at all. I would not be here if I did not want to be.” Hermione said, a gentle hand placed onto Andromeda's.

The older witch frowned and rested her jaw on her palm. “I am leagues older than you, dear. I have already experienced so much of life that it hurts me to think I might be taking that away from you, of you experiencing life.

Hermione leaned backed in her chair and shook her head. How could she made Andromeda understand? She looked to the Black sister and saw no evidence of fallacy. If she could be brave and be open, then so could Hermione. “I deserve a life where I get to make choices for myself. I have already been robbed of my youth in someone else's war, and while I don't regret the events that have lead to this age of peace, I cannot lie and say that it hasn't had its lasting effects.” Hermione stated. Andromeda's eyes held an unsettling depth. If Hermione let herself, she'd get lost in them for hours on end.

“I do not wish to pry but...please elaborate?” Andromeda gently pushed.

Their waitress appeared and topped off their drink, the pouring obnoxiously loud in the table's silence, then left with their dirtied dishes. Hermione thought on one hand, she knew she needed to get it out. Ginny was the one person she normally confided in, her or Tonks who was a great listener as well, but neither of them knew wholeheartedly of Hermione's demons and the girl wanted to keep it that way. There were so many complex elements to the whole issue. Plagued by too realistic dreams where Hermione was able to be touched. She was able to be harmed. She was able to be healed.

With that thought, the bookworm straightened her back and kept her eyes on her drink. “I have been having terrible dreams ever since we started to hunt for the horcruxes.” Hermione confessed, her fingers traced the handle of her cup. Andromeda listed with rapt attention. “I have trouble staying in the moment because I think all the time. I can't stop. I...want it to stop.” She paused and her hands gripped the table making her knuckles turn white with force. “But I have to keep going. I hate that my schooling was plagued with demanding quests of a challenge that felt all too impossible something. I just thought I'd escape it after...” Hermione trailed off.

Eyes were damp and Hermione found that she was not alone in her tears. Her lover's fingers interlaced with hers, as if threading and connecting the two would somehow help pull Hermione back together. Tears ran down her face in silent rivers, the weights on her shoulder still there but lessening some. Childhood memories ran freely through her mind. Hermione remembered the first mud pie she made in the backyard of her muggle friend Susan's backyard. Candles for each of her birthday cake flickered their flame at her through the memories, each year a different number but still stuck through a chocolate cake with her name in pink writing. She saw her parents' faces and noted how wrinkles were added through the years, hair thinning and the addition of glasses for aging Jean Granger. Her Hogwarts letter made an appearance in her sea of reflection. Lots of studying, thoughts about Ginny (which Hermione blushed at), a cultivation of the good parts of her life before the darkness came. Polyjuice potion. Frozen in Hogwarts' infirmary holding that blasted mirror. The time-turner. Harry's name being drawn from the Goblet of Fire. Cedric Diggory's death. Sirius' death. Fred's death. Bellatrix's faux death. A sob broke from her lips and Hermione held her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle any sound of her heart breaking.

“I am here, my little dove.” Andromeda whispered, to the girl's side in a second. The older woman held a tight embrace around the girl and hushed her cries until there was only the sound of Hermione's sniffling. “You are far, far more brave than any of us have ever had to be.”

Hermione shook her head. “I was so afraid. All of it, all the time.” There it was. One of her biggest secrets, although she knew she had never fooled anyone.

“Of course you were. Fear means you are aware of danger. My goodness, Hermione Granger, you're the most perceiving witch I've ever met, sharp as a pin. You had hope in spite of hopeless, you had courage in spite of fear. That is the most impressive thing I've ever seen.” Andromeda ranted, with such a passion Hermione almost felt like she'd been knocked over by its force.

Her arms returned Andromeda's embrace and she nestled her head in the crook the woman's neck, enjoying the warmth she found her, the walls that seemed impenetrable around her. They sat like that for a moment that stretched on for several minutes until Andromeda pulled back. “Let's go home. I wish to rest before dinner.” Andromeda said suddenly. Hermione's lips dropped into a frown at the request but took the arm already offered out to her, the two departing the small restaurant and returning to the same Floo network fireplace they'd arrived from.

Shoes were abandoned when Hermione entered her room and she had not expected her companion's heels to join them. She felt embarrassed for having a soured mood at all. It wasn't like Hermione couldn't occupy her time with something else, but she enjoyed Andromeda's presence. Finding comfort where one was uncomfortable was terribly underrated. At least, that's what Hermione thought. The gryffindor wondered if her thoughts were too worship-like, if she put Andromeda on a pedestal. _The good Black sister_ , Hermione had privately dubbed her lover. But how good could a Black sister be, exactly? Her eyes drifted to Andromeda's reclining form on her bed, legs placed over another and smooth, pale calves laid sinfully. _Good enough_ , Hermione thought. The patting of Andromeda's hands signaled her obedience and Hermione followed, her head resting her lover's shoulder. Something purred inside Hermione's chest when foreign fingers stroked the outside of her arm, goosebumps raising in respond when her lips could not find words to describe how the older witch made her feel. She really did think she could look at the woman all day.

When did this crush begin? The girl had thought about it recently. Hermione remembered the brief visits the Order's safe-house, previously Sirius Black's home. Andromeda had a militant aura about her and it frightened Hermione from ever talking to her until Tonks had invited her over for dinner once. Even when the woman was married, Hermione did not find herself any less enthralled. The cocky attitude, the unrelenting perseverance, the quick wit, all trademark Black traits. Even Sirius had held a degree of each. Hermione wondered if Harry ever noticed it. That same languish tongue of guilt ebbed at her and she sighed, her lover checking her with a concerned expression. It was funny, Hermione thought, that if she squinted hard enough, she could almost pretend it was Bellatrix's face. The thought of Bellatrix caring for her only made that feeling intensify. The barriers in her mind were steel walls. She didn't want anyone to find out, didn't want anyone to think of the girl as a foul witch. It was her heart, after all, or at least her brain doing the dirty work. Hermione's intrusive thoughts were getting worse.

“Have you told anyone else what you're dealing with, little one?” Andromeda asked. Her voice held so much in it.

Hermione swallowed. “A couple people. I know I should seek professional help but everyone knows me. I'm famous, whether I like it or not, and the last thing I need is for that damned Rita Skeeter to post lies in the tabloids about 'Granger's Trip To St. Mungo's'.”

“You're not weak for seeking help.” Andromeda said, turning onto her side. Hermione decided the witch looked best like this, the chestnut hair spilling over the sheets, her eyes on Hermione's.

As she copied Andromeda and turned to her side, Hermione snuggled in closer and basked in the older witch's hold. “I know. I plan on seeing a muggle therapist after my studies end.” Hermione voiced. She hadn't told anyone that yet. Hermione didn't know how Andromeda would feel about it. Obviously the woman had no issues with muggles, but still, the woman might disapprove because Hermione's trauma came from the wizarding world and might need to be dealt with in that world.

“That sounds excellent. I want you to get any help you need.” Andromeda replied. There were no more words exchanged before exhaustion overtook Hermione, her lover's eyes soon falling shut and joined her in sleep.

Drool pooled from Hermione's lips on the soft pillow she'd laid her head on. Wait, actually...the pillow in question was in fact not a pillow at all, but _two_ pillows. Andromeda's chest rose and fell in a steady breath as the woman slept. Hermione's eyes split open and she craned her neck to look up at the witch. Andromeda's hair was incredibly long, the roots and ends healthy. _She certainly takes care of herself_ , Hermione thought cheekily. She looked over to where an enchanted vintage alarm clock sat reading sometime in the late afternoon. Dinner would be ready and Narcissa didn't seem like the type for tardiness. Regretfully, Hermione placed gentle hands on Andromeda's shoulders and shook her lightly. “Andy, wake up! We should start getting ready.” Hermione called, unable to keep herself from pushing a lock of hair out of the older witch's face,

Soft, unfocused eyes found hers in confusion. That look melted Hermione who leaned forward to peck the woman's lips. “I should start sleeping in here more often if I receive a wake-up call like that again.” The voice husked. Andromeda's smile looked predatory. Hermione barely had time to reply before the woman pounced on her. The middle Black sister certainly had a penchant for playtime, but a nagging feeling continued to push at Hermione. She'd die if the youngest sister came in here and found them like this.

“We need to go, Andy.” Hermione tried, her cheeks flamed with an innocent shyness. Andromeda pouted and pressed a few kisses to Hermione's jaw. “Must we?” Andromeda asked.

It seemed like the older witch already knew the answer because she was off Hermione seconds later, helping the girl to her feet. She found herself nodding in response anyways and took a moment to straighten herself out before leaving with the grumbling woman. The sisters were surprisingly immature sometimes and Hermione would've never believed it before, but here was Andromeda Black talking her ear off about needing a few more minutes to get ready and Hermione couldn't stop the eye roll from forming. The witches entered the dining room to the other three current manor occupants already seated. Draco seemed delighted to see her and it warmed Hermione to know he was starting to accept her. Making friends with her enemies seemed to be her forte, or maybe not, if the look Bellatrix gave her was any indication. It struck her as odd that she hadn't had the unfortunate chance to run into the imprisoned woman. Perhaps Bellatrix was only allowed to be in certain areas of the house. Hermione could only wonder as she knew she'd never get any answers out of the woman.

“Nice of you to join us. We've been waiting seven minutes and forty-three seconds.” Narcissa drawled.

Hermione gawked at the woman who had just rendered her speechless. For that moment, anyways. “You counted?” Hermione asked, her eyebrows shot upwards.

“Of course. It's not like you to be late. My sister in another story.” Narcissa replied, although her was something hidden behind her words and Hermione wasn't sure if she liked that. She was leaning towards not.

Dinner was heavy but not unbearable, since Bellatrix hadn't spoken a word. The only sound coming from the woman at all was the scraping of a fork against porcelain as she stabbed at golden-glazed asparagus. Hermione could hear the washing of plates in the kitchen just off to the side of the room, hidden behind a door labeled 'Staff's Quarters'. She wondered how Pinky lived and if there were any other house-elves serving the manor. Andromeda's start of a conversation caught her attention, but not enough to warrant a response. The constant clinking of silverware kept distracting her, her eyes trailing over the hands that made the insufferable noise. Bellatrix's eyes snapped to Andromeda and the movement frightened Hermione. Under other circumstances, she wouldn't have been so jumpy, so on edge, but she may as well had been in a lion's den. These were dangerous women to varying degrees and levels. Perhaps Hermione felt guilty. Her solemn eyes flicked to Narcissa. Bellatrix and Andromeda were discussing some upcoming appointment, with the former obvious displeased.

“I am not going.” Bellatrix's snarl reached Hermione's ear.

Her eyes never left Narcissa. The talking continued, but it was like one might think hearing things _blurred_ would sound like. Hermione was interested in the conversation and tried to listen in, but she found her attention drifting.

“Cissy, tell our _dear_ sister I am not going!” Even Bellatrix's shriek failed to completely ensnare Hermione's attention.

She watched as the blonde witch sighed. “You know this is part of the program-” Narcissa started.

“I'm not going to your bloody mind-fucker!”

Hermione's eyes left Narcissa but only for a second, her sight landing on the frown the woman wore. She could only guess the youngest sister said something related to her hard stance on the matter, gauging the reaction out of Bellatrix. As soon as the woman's sister was dealt with, blue eyes found hers as the other two women returned to their earlier argument. She forced herself to look away and started to serve herself before a hand gripped hers mid-ladling. “Let me, Hermione.” Narcissa murmured. The gryffindor nodded and kept her eyes to where her plate was stationed previously. Hermione hid her thoughts behind barriers and it managed to keep out the same polite prodding from Narcissa. Images of the library came forward and before Hermione stopped herself, she knew by the time they locked eyes that she was caught. The probing in her mind pushed forward with ease. Even a lesson from Andromeda hadn't helped against a skilled Legilimens like the woman's sister. Though Hermione knew this was no fault of her lover's but her own damned mind. Realization flickered through Narcissa's eyes as Hermione's thoughts presented themselves so freely as if they were a river spilling through a deteriorating flood wall. A mouth pursed into a straight like, a jaw set a muggle's hunting trap- one wrong word from Hermione and she'd be trapped no better than a common hare.

“Would you like a roll with your plate?” Narcissa asked. Neither of the blonde's sisters paid attention to them.

The girl had the decency to blush, the guilt flowing effortlessly through her. Hermione's eyes spied the rolls brushed with strawberry butter and the feeling only intensified. She wondered if Narcissa had Pinky make them just for her. “Yes, please. Thank you, Narcissa.” Hermione said, but there was an undercurrent to her words. A plead to forgive her.

“No need to thank me.”

It stung. Her heart thudded in time with Narcissa's delicate placement of her plate in front of her. Draco seemed to sense something was amiss, Hermione could tell by the way his concerned eyes perceived her, but he held is tongue. She didn't expect the boy to question his mother and she never would. Hermione wasn't malicious in intent and when she met Narcissa's hard stare for a second time, her thoughts besought the woman with that particular message. This exchange had been ended by Narcissa surprisingly, when those frozen glacial eyes melted to an endless hurt sea and turned down from her level of sight. She could see conflict war on Draco's face. The boy wore his emotions so clearly that one did not have to be as skilled as his mother in Legilimency to know what he was thinking. Hermione worked to rebuild her mind's walls because there were other minds that could find her out as well, but it was hard. Dinner remained a quiet affair. Any attempts to goad Narcissa into talking on Andromeda's end were halfhearted at best and Hermione felt like the youngest sister did not mind that at all. Then there was a sour Bellatrix, but she blended into the background more or less. As much as one could when they were a screaming loon. Thankful she was for her blossoming friendship with the boy, since she was able to distract herself with conversations about exams.

“Could you help me with Advanced Arithmancy? That bloody professor doesn't know what she's doing! The problems are just longer and complex. How am I suppose to discern the future from numbers? Divination is much easier.” Draco complained, leaning back once he finished his meal.

Hermione felt herself smile when she heard Bellatrix's groan, but dropped it from her face when Narcissa cleared her throat. “The numbers are more reliable than tea leaves, Draco. It's practiced with a science.” Hermione murmured, her hand around her goblet of wine. It was only her second glass, after Pinky had sweetly refilled her cup, but she was somewhat tipsy. Only subtly so, though she knew the blonde with knew, for the woman's eyes did not leave her when Hermione wasn't looking at her. She was feeling sorry for herself and Pinky was back to pour her another refill. The girl took another measured sip and continued. “For example, if I wanted to make Amortentia for someone I could use Arithmancy to predict a day they more be susceptible. It's not a foolproof practice, but much better than gazing into a crystal ball and ruining your eyesight.” The boy laughed but continued the argument. They understood the other's point of view, but neither of them were the type to pass up a good fight.

A tired voice spoke. “Why did that particular potion come to mind, Muddy?” Bellatrix drawled. The woman was wrapping her curls around her wand, one Hermione never had seen in past interactions with Bellatrix.

She only shrugged. “I'm not sure.”

“Not sure? Perhaps the fickle little _thing_ has developed a taste for my dear sister. Does she not return your nasty affections?” Bellatrix asked, faux concern expressed on her face. Hermione thought she looked beautiful and it revolted her.

Thankfully, Hermione did not need to respond. “Bella, my relationship with Hermione does not concern you. There is nothing there that you think you see.” Andromeda lied.

Her heart _ached_. Why was Andromeda flip-flopping all of a sudden? For goodness' sake, they had just went on a date. Hermione thought they were on the same page. Her eyes fought to seek out Andromeda's but the witch wasn't looking at her. She could tell the witch was avoiding her gaze, out of shame or something else she didn't know. Taking a deep breath, Hermione was about to excuse herself until Narcissa spoke to her again. “Would you like to assist me out in the greenhouse, Ms. Granger? Some herbs I have are ready for harvest.” Narcissa asked, folding her napkin beside her plate and standing. Presumably ready to leave immediately.

Dread filled her, but Hermione decided that feeling was more welcoming than the heart-shattering pain Andromeda had surprised her with. Standing, the girl pushed in her chair and followed Narcissa out past the formal garden. They happened upon a long, rectangular building with green trim and clear windows. The plants must've gotten the light from the windows on the ceiling to grow since both sides of the greenhouse were covered in shrubbery and foliage. She hadn't missed the way Narcissa had addressed her and it only served to make Hermione feel worse. Narcissa held the door open for her and shut it behind her, the space seeming to turn private. Personal. Inside held a variety of plants, from the common mint to more rare and exotic breeds and they covered every flat surface in the plant nursery.

“Did you know the Wolfsbane potion is one of the hardest to make? Even master brewers struggle with it.” Narcissa commented, her fingers delicately touching the mouth of one particular flower. The indigo petals complemented the blonde's skin tone and Hermione briefly wondered what the woman would look in such a color. The twisted feeling in her stomach came back and Hermione sighed at the loss, believing now she'd never have the chance to even see such an outfit on Narcissa.

Hermione approached her, her eyes knitting together in confusion. “I follow, but I'm not sure what this has to do with...” Hermione faltered. Narcissa's eyes were on her in an instant and Hermione failed to miss the fists curled on either side of the woman's form.

“It doesn't. I was simply making conversation.” Narcissa stated.

She couldn't get a read on the woman. Narcissa's shoulders were taut but slackened a moment later. The blonde witch fetched a pair of tweezers that were fashioned for petal-pulling. Hermione was handed a small mason jar while aged hands began their work. For the next twenty minutes, the two moved in tandem. It surprised Hermione how easily it was to work with someone. Typically, there weren't many classes where she felt challenged by her classmates. Ravenclaws were her only rivals and even then, they couldn't compare to Hermione's learning regiment, nor her self-discipline. Though the opposite of the latter seemed to be true too. Hermione couldn't control herself around Andromeda or Bellatrix for that matter, if her dreams were proof of that. Hermione couldn't stop the question of whether she could a perverse attempt from Narcissa coming to the forefront of her thoughts.

One particular snip crunched loudly and Narcissa decided to finish her tending. Hermione hadn't noticed the weight against her mind's protective structures and found an inkling of a trail threading through cracks in the walls. “Hermione...” She heard Narcissa say, who exhaled a sharp breath in the moonlight. The greenhouse was enchanted to be warm against winter's rage, but Hermione felt it was boiling hot. Or perhaps that was the look the woman across her gave the gryffindor to make her feel so. Narcissa abandoned the shears shoved in a plant's potting soil, the Wolfsbane petals' lavender veins exposed and shining in the thin veil of the night's light. Hermione felt her back hit the door of a built-in closet, Narcissa's eyes leveled with her. She felt impossibly small and would not think it possible given their similar heights, but it was Narcissa who squashed her. Narcissa the one who intimidated her.

Dirt-riddled hands rested on either side of Hermione's shoulders, the figure rigid with an unnamed emotion. Narcissa's black bangs swept to the side elegantly for even when covered in filth, the witch was still pristine, _pure_ even. She felt herself shiver at the close proximity. Wide eyes watched as the older witch's hand cupped her chin, gently turning Hermione's head in unashamed examination. She wondered what Narcissa was thinking, would give most anything to know if only to sate her never-ending curiosity. Narcissa's dinner gown was of a beautiful gray silk, cloth draped decoratively over her chest. The image made Hermione blush. Birds made of black beads and trees of baby blue sequins enhanced the dress. The woman did not need magic to help her in the beauty sector.

“Hermione,” a soft voice called. She was surprised to find it belonging to none other than the woman stationed in front of her.

The girl found herself unable to breathe. “Narcissa?” Hermione choked.

Narcissa looked vulnerable. Anger bubbled to the surface, promptly replaced by hurt, all masked by indifference, but Hermione knew. She didn't understand entirely why Narcissa was impassioned so, but had Hermione miscalculated the risk of looking into Narcissa's private studies? Had she underestimated how much the Black sister valued privacy? Did Hermione cross a boundary? Her head swam with these thoughts and she never them to be private no longer. Narcissa's probing wasn't elusive, if anything it commanded Hermione's attention in the same way Narcissa herself did. As if Narcissa had come bursting through closed doors. “Why...” The older witch paused, unsure. “Why did you not tell me the entirety of your dream? You withheld information from me when you allowed me into your head that morning.”

“I was ashamed.”

And it was true. Hermione carried guilt with her like a parasite. It ate away at her until she gave into it; manic nights of tears continuously trailing her face, the inability to eat, and the damned self-loathing making it hard to look in the mirror at its height of rage. How could her body betray her, her mind? The very thing Hermione was praised for incessantly! If anyone found out what else lurked in her mind besides her wit and her wisecracks, would they still think of her as she wanted them to? Hermione clung to that innocence. She had so much taken from her and she would fight to keep this, but in the end, it was her mind that yet again betrayed her.

“Oh, _ma chère_.” Narcissa's soft voice empathized. The anger that the blue depths held dissipated into smoldering embers. She had every right to be angry, but perhaps the blonde witch could not bring herself to feel it at the moment. “You do not have to feel this way. You do not deserve to. Everyone has desires,” Narcissa paused, that unrevealing glint of emotion in her eye, “but that does not make them evil for doing so.”

Hermione felt the tears leak from her eyes, unable to control or turn off the ducts. Soft thumbs wiped at her cheeks and she felt heavy all of a sudden, leaning on Narcissa's arms for support. They caught her and drew her into a close embrace. A strange scent filled Hermione's nostrils before she realized with a blush that it smelled all too similar to the shower products her suite came equipped with. Her mind thought about the fact she had been doused to smell like Narcissa everyday, that it might've been the reason she occupied the young witch's mind so often lately. Yet another twinge struck Hermione. She looked away from the other witch, but Hermione could not deny it to herself no long when Narcissa had also just discovered another secret- her growing desire for the woman herself. “I don't think Andy would mind sharing you,” Narcissa considered for a moment. Hermione almost felt like the woman punched her in the gut.

_Sharing?_ Hermione thought wildly.

“Indeed.”

She heard the cockiness in the slytherin's singular word, the complete dominance and air of superiority in it. “What do you mean by that?”

Narcissa's eyes darted to trembling lips, her attention drawn to the shaky exhale of the girl in front of her. Her smile was wicked to Hermione. She _liked_ Hermione like this. “Exactly what I mean.” Narcissa simply said. The young witch narrowed her eyes and grew irritated. Hermione would have felt insulted by Narcissa's attitude if that bubble of guilt didn't stick in her throat.

“I'm sorry.” Hermione murmured. That's all she could manage to think. Despite whatever Narcissa's intentions were, she wanted the more pressing issue to be resolved. “I truly did not plan to read your family's private journal. I wanted to know how Bellatrix healed me and-” she was cut off with a finger to her lips.

The same finger outlined Hermione's mouth with a gentle trail. “You believe that to be the reason I am so upset with you?” Narcissa asked. It infuriated the girl to hear that almost _condescending_ tone, as if Hermione should have guessed another reason.

“What else could there be?” Hermione spat. Her temper was growing to be beyond her control. She was caged in, trapped by this pureblood woman.

The youngest Black sister shook her head and chuckled lowly, her hand caressed Hermione's jaw. She made sure to maintain eye contact with the young witch. “You are wise beyond your years, Hermione Granger, but you lack tact, observation- and no, not in the way you're thinking of. You're a brilliant student, Hermione, but when you are stripped of your titles and you are laid just a girl, you are so innocent. So _pure._ ” Narcissa stressed. Hermione felt her heart flip. How could she feel that way about the girl? Hold her in such a light? It almost reanimated the tears Hermione so desperately needed to shed, but that would have to wait for another time.

Lips found hers and matched every movement of Hermione's. It was like Narcissa could predict every reaction she could get out of the young witch and she couldn't explain why. No longer did Hermione struggle under the kiss but instead gave in completely, emboldened hands gripping the back of her fellow witch. This kiss was far more possessive in its nature than any of her shared kisses with Andromeda had been. The older witch sought to claim, to control. Hermione only realized how far into Narcissa's mousetrap she'd fallen, but how was she to stop it now? Stop the aggressive hands that tightened its grip on her ass? Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to. They only broke away when Narcissa needed air, her eyes landing on the gryffindor's swollen lip. The woman admired her handiwork and sighed, resting her forehead against Hermione's.

“I've been wanting to do that for a while. I hold a great deal of admiration for you, Ms. Granger.” Narcissa admitted. It was the closest thing to a confession that Hermione had ever heard from the skunk-haired witch.

Hermione felt herself blush and closed her eyes, unable to stop herself from smiling. “You flatter me, Ms. Black.”

“Narcissa.” The older woman corrected.

She adopted a playful pout but nodded. “Narcissa.” Hermione whispered.

An involuntary shudder shook its way through the witch and stroked the girl's ego. Andromeda made her feel wanted, but so did her lover's sister. The uneasy feeling still had not left her and she returned her attention to her accomplice in her affair. “I've betrayed her.” Hermione said, remorse ebbed in her throat. Not that it mattered anyway. Andromeda had made that clear at dinner.

“Do not worry about it. I will speak with her. For now, keep it between us.” Narcissa murmured, her nose prodding Hermione's in a sentimental gesture. “I wish for you to meet me in my office around four o'clock. Can you manage that?”

Hermione found herself nodding before she came to a concrete decision. Another betrayal from her body. Narcissa stepped away and took out her handkerchief, dabbing at the dirt that had gotten on the young witch's face. Hermione scrunched her nose at the thought. _She touched my lips with those fingers!_ Hermione thought, her stomach turned rancid. A dazzling smile soothed the sour thoughts and she couldn't find it in herself to hold anything against the blonde. After all, Narcissa had just kissed the hell out of her, so much so that she found herself almost inebriated from the action. The older witch screwed a lid over the mason jar and used her wand to levitate it past Hermione's head and into the closet the girl had been resting against. A kiss to her temple pulled the girl from her thoughts.

“Until tomorrow, Hermione.”

And with that, Narcissa left her alone in the greenhouse. Hermione watched her snow prints form with every step and felt her heart thud with each one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter! I plan on covering the event for the ball before chapter 10 which after that point, gaps in time are expected. Not year long ones, but perhaps months. I'm pretty pleased with how this one came out. It's difficult maintaining a fair balance of the sisters, so keep that in mind as the story goes on. Bellatrix will be involved much more heavily, but it would be unnatural for Hermione to immediately be with her. Make sure to leave me a review and let me know how I'm doing! Thanks. :)


	6. The Ball's Tomorrow!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Bellatrix have some interactions. Hermione investigates Black family writings in the library then meets with the youngest sister. More of a filler chapter.

As much as it were possible, Hermione avoided the middle sister of the Black family the next day. Andromeda was inescapable at breakfast, but Draco saw her need and they both moved one seat away from the sisters. Hermione noted that Bellatrix watched the two of them with great interest, the charcoal eyes flitting carelessly between the two. Andromeda had tried speaking with Hermione but the girl's flat responses hardly sparked conversation. On the other end, Draco brought out the conversationalist in Hermione it seemed. She knew it was childish but if Andromeda had drawn her line, should she not as well? Her semi-lover took the hint and once finished with her first meal of the day took her leave.

“Well, well. Let's do what families do best- talk behind each other's backs!” Bellatrix cackled, dropping her feet to the floor (much to Narcissa's pleasure). The mad woman leaned forward on her elbows and said, “What's gotten my sister's panties in a knot, Granger?”

Hermione schooled her features but the one exposure of how she truly felt lied in the way her shoulders stiffened. “I'm not sure what you mean. Andromeda's feelings are not in my hands.” Hermione replied smoothly.

This earned the girl a glare from Bellatrix, who promptly picked up a roll smothered in strawberry butter and ate it, gnashing maw and all. “What do you think muggles and liars both have in common? _They're dirty_. Unfortunately, it seems for you you're both of those.” Bellatrix sighed, as if it truly pained her to say so. Indignation tore at Hermione, her fists balled in her lap and she took a deep breath.

“I am not lying. I am responsible for myself and myself only.” Hermione said flatly.

Bellatrix licked the excess spillage from her lips which bothered her, so much so that her thighs pushed together at the uncomfortable sensation that settled between them. “Oh Muddy, if only that were true. Are you upset at her reluctance to 'make it official'?”

“There is nothing besides a platonic friendship between Andromeda and I.” Hermione lied. Though she didn't consider it lying. If this is how Andromeda wanted her, in silence and in secret, then she'd rather not fool with it at all. She was addicted to the witch, but not to the point of forgetting her worth. Hermione's spent more than long enough falling down that hole and it was time for her to remember.

Narcissa cleared her throat. “I believe that is enough, Bella. It's not polite to stick noses where they don't belong, especially when you deserve no answers.” Narcissa scolded. Her crazed sister only pouted before scarfing up another roll. Hermione felt hungry no longer and instead pushed her plate back, bringing a frown to the blonde sister's face. She felt ashamed. The girl did not want to disappoint Narcissa, but she couldn't help but feel like she had when she met the older witch's gaze.

“You all know it to be a lie and yet you're trying to make me out as a lunatic!” Bellatrix snarled, jumping to her feet.

Hermione was _tired_. She had only spent four days in the godforsaken house but it stretched on towards eternity. Not to mention the party was tomorrow and she felt woefully unprepared for the social aspect of it. Since she was one-third of the Golden Trio, Hermione was used to the gossipers, Rita Skeeter- lies all of it. It was a shame that she experienced an odd emptiness, Andromeda and her igniting so wonderfully only to be extinguished a day's time later. So of course the young witch had grown tired of Bellatrix. Hermione's nature as a gryffindor was seen in its true form as she copied Bellatrix's stance, her wand in her hand at a moment's notice. She saw Narcissa's eyes widen and the mad sister grin, a wand in her hand as well. Hermione cursed herself and her impulsiveness, her need to impress those around her. She closed her eyes and took a step off to the side, her wand at the ready.

“Duel me.” The young witch said.

Bellatrix and Narcissa did not share many physical similarities, but their faces contorted in the same fashion Hermione could only identify as surprise. “Excuse me?” Bellatrix asked, a measured caution in her disbelief.

“Duel,” Hermione enunciated, “me.”

Narcissa stood to her feet and stepped in front of Bellatrix- whether for Hermione's sake or her sister's- the blonde did not know. “This is foolish. Bellatrix, you are on thin ice as it is. What will you say when the aurors come to check your wand, hm? And Ms. Granger, you forget yourself. It is my dwelling in which you temporarily inhabit. Might you be as so bold as to offend me in my own home?” There was a harshness to her words, the reprimand slithering and coiling throughout Hermione's torso. Guilt felt like a second nature to her at that point.

“It's completely consensual. As for the wand, they could check her memories and test me, if need be, for any inklings of the Imperious curse. Which they'll find none, of course.” Hermione said, her voice began to to steady as her confidence soared. “I have no wishes to offend you, my Lady. I only hope to tire your sister enough to mollify her, if only for us to get some peace.”

Hermione almost smiled when she saw the blonde sister's lips twitch, if only for a split second. She could see a certain fire in the woman's eyes, perhaps one that drew inspiration from such an exciting conversationalist like Hermione. After all, it was hard to find someone who could talk about dusty old books for hours without tiring. The room was heavy with each bead of silence covering the room until Narcissa spoke. “Outside.” The blonde said simply.

The blonde's older sister cackled in absolute glee. Even though it still sounded absolutely deranged, Hermione imagined it was the first time she heard the woman become cheerful about something other than _torture,_ although it certainly was footing the boundary pretty heavily. Bellatrix appeared so happy that the woman practically _skipped_ towards the main entrance and Hermione noted she wore no coat. It reminded the girl that perhaps the witch was smart for doing so. The snow was falling no longer falling and wind was no longer blowing, only adding to the winter scene's stillness. Deafness, even. Hermione followed the Black sister out, along with Narcissa and her son who would never miss a show like this, and noted that the only sound she could hear was the crunching of her group's shoes into the snow. She briefly remembered the birds who only days before were chirping, annoyingly so, but could spy them no more.

They entered a space that was barren white, no foliage or walls to hide behind. If Hermione were to stand a chance, she'd have to have a good defense. Simple enough, but a good offense matter almost as much, if not more. Bellatrix excelled in both, Hermione knew this as she battled her previously to Molly Weasley's own spat. The lick of guilt waggled its tongue at her again, taunting her with a such an upset feeling. “Rules are in place. No Unforgivables, Bella.” Narcissa reminded, then suppressed a roll of her eyes as Bellatrix pouted. “Nothing that cuts. Sore feelings are...allowed if Hermione gives consent. I don't suppose I have anything else.” The blonde witch almost looked ill, Hermione thought. Her and her dueling partner stood fifteen feet apart, front-facing each other. Hermione shortly wondered if this was what it was like for Harry to duel Voldemort. The name still chilled her to say, even though he wasn't truly her biggest fear. She hated him and knew him as a despicable horrid _thing_ , but her fear for him would never match Harry's. That man killed his family, inhabited his brain, was apart of the boy who lived for so long that it frightened him so much. The fact that something knew every part of him, could use any part of him to hurt him or the people Harry loved. Hermione's eyes flickered to Bellatrix's.

Isn't that how she felt about the eldest Black sister? Bellatrix was _bound_ to her for the curse had bound her wound she received at the manor months ago. Even though she was healed of the scarring, Hermione had to admit she still felt something. _Something must mean something,_ Hermione thought quickly. The redundancy of it all confused her and this was no time to be distracted. Hermione's lips found themselves saying, “No cuts, but stuns are fine.” Hermione replied, she then pulled her features into a placid mask. This apparently made her opponent upset somehow. _How_?! Hermione questioned soundlessly. She couldn't ever assess Bellatrix properly. Maybe if the two had a conversation outside of pureblood supremacy beliefs and things that triggered Hermione's trauma response, perhaps she'd understood the woman more. She was surprised when she found herself acknowledging the fact Bellatrix was raised under abuse and control, but as the woman grew there was no reason for her not to challenge her own beliefs. How could she be so foolish, so two-dimensional?

Bellatrix's growl pulled her from her thoughts. “This is no time to get me to betray my beliefs, girl. You'll find nothing but steel against your petty touch.”

“I have no wish to do anything with you, Bellatrix.” Hermione said coolly. Her stance was rigid with a silent fury. How could the woman not see through her ignorance? She admitted she somewhat idolized the witch, finding a kindred spirit in her in certain aspects, mostly the darker parts of the Golden Trio's heroine. From Hermione's research back in her fifth year, after the run-in at the Ministry of Magic with the witch, led her to study such a subject. That is, Bellatrix being the subject. Besides old newspapers she had found in Hogwarts' expansive library, Hermione never gathered any personal information about the witch herself. No, she found _that_ in the silence of the school's ancient halls. Forgotten plaques Hermione had found at some point during her sixth year. One in particular that spoke of Bellatrix Druella Black. The middle name did not suit the mad woman. Hermione knew first-born witches and wizards took after one the same gendered parent's, but she curiously thought what alternatives that the witch could've had. The girl did not know much about the Black sister's mother, but had stories, rumors that chilled her almost as much as the woman standing in front of her had.

The duelers held their arms to their sides, copying a muggle soldier's stance, Hermione thought idly. Neither moved and Hermione knew what she wanted, for the girl to bow first. A sign of dominance, of highborn status. It should've upset Hermione, the woman's refusal to see her as a equal, but in a way it almost _excited_ her. To be fair, in an outraged sort of manner. That fire that burned between her legs signified its hatred for the dark witch's behavior, but delighted in the feeling of such intense emotions. Hermione wasn't afraid to feel that way exactly, but it still did not settle well with her. To appease Bellatrix, Hermione dignified her with a small bow. Red lips curled in satisfaction, the woman unable to hide what a stroke to her ego the action was. Bellatrix returned the gesture although it had not been as low as Hermione's which the girl had previously thought to be impossible. _At least she bowed though,_ Hermione bitterly thought.

“How polite you are, Muddy! A learned girl finally understanding her place among her betters.” Bellatrix taunted.

Her words felt oddly empty to Hermione, as if it were an echo of someone else's thoughts. Though she supposed that was true for any of Bellatrix's beliefs. The Blacks' parents had instilled in their children (some more than others as past events had proven) a wicked belief, one fused with disdain for those deemed _lesser_. “Are you ready, Black?” Hermione answered tiredly.

“If you wish for me to speak to you with any grain of respect, you shall address me as Mistress,” Bellatrix paused and Hermione noted that something wild flickered through the loon's eyes, “or Miss Black.”

A tightness formed in the young witch's jaw, Hermione's wand hand shaking. It grew harder to control herself, but the girl managed to take a quick breath. Her arm anchored upwards, Bellatrix's old want aiming at its original master. Sharp eyes met the sight and Hermione could only imagine it was because of that realization. For some reason, that almost made the girl feel guilty. She had lost her own wand and felt as though she had lost apart of her. After all, a witch's first wand is its truest. However, Bellatrix's had been surprisingly close to her first wand in the ease of use. Though it had a disadvantage, some part of it held onto refusal to betray its first mistress. Except one might believe that some part of Hermione was not unlike whatever caused the wand's hesitance. One might even say Hermione truly did not wish to harm the witch, that she along with the wand believed Bellatrix deserving of such reserve. A wand held as much strength as the one wielding it.

Mist of light blue magic flew at Hermione who barely managed to shield herself with a Protego spell. Bellatrix advanced on the young witch, the latter managing to barely slip from the woman's grasp. Hermione returned each of Bellatrix's combatant spells with her own stuns, hexes, a few jinxes or more. A specific spell caught the dueling Black's attention, Hermione saw the curiosity in her eyes which made it all the more exciting for Bellatrix. The girl would've thought the woman an absolute stunner by the smile that mesmerized her, but she felt a feeling in what Hermione thought prey experienced moments before a predator ensnared them in their clutch. “What range! I'm almost _impressed_.” Bellatrix cackled, her arm slashing through air in a crisscrossed pattern. Duels were always entertaining, but something oppressive was felt among this duel's audience. Narcissa admitted to herself she was impressed with Hermione's defense, though the young gryffindor could use some help with her offense. How different the duelists' fighting styles were, where Bellatrix sought to harm, to control, Hermione sought to flee or to pacify. It was that exact realization that caused a fondness for the girl to grow in Narcissa. If the blonde lingered on it a moment more, she was sure cheeks would redden.

Hermione was exhausted. They watch the pushed each other on in circles muddled her mind and the girl wished for some coverage, for a pause. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Bellatrix. In fact, Bellatrix's offense grew stronger as she released an onslaught of nasty hexes. Hermione supposed she was lucky to only receive a mild burn on her shoulder from one hex she had been unable to shield herself against. She reminded herself that Bellatrix was capable of much worse. As Hermione hissed in pain and stumbled, she shot a rather powerful shield-splintering spell that significantly weakened the Black sister's defenses. Tightly gripped, her wand heeded her command for a binding spell and to both duelists' amazement, it did not fail her. Vines wrapped around Bellatrix's wrists like a criminal in handcuffs, those same tendrils snaking around delicate calves. The older witch's body fell to the ground her her wand fell beside her, just a hair out of reach. Hermione panted and slowly approached Bellatrix with a look of pure pride. “Submit.” Hermione murmured.

It didn't surprise her when those dark eyes narrowed, but what did surprise her was the sudden burning in her neck. Some unseen heat expanded and caused Hermione to collapse to her knees. Bellatrix had wandlessly inflicted that same spell on her that she had cast on the girl's shoulder, although this was more intense. She couldn't _breathe_. Pressure grew in the young witch and her eyes bulged with force, drool starting to overflow her mouth. Then all of a sudden, it was erased. Freedom was given to Hermione's body, a sharp inhale of breath filling her abused lungs. When black spots faded from her vision, she saw Bellatrix standing in front of her, her arm raised as she murmured healing spells. This shocked everyone as they had expected Narcissa to be Hermione's healer, them working on the understood knowledge that Bellatrix never cared for her her opponents, her enemies. At least not to Draco or Hermione. Narcissa regarded her sister with a wary expression as she had almost been hit with a memory of a younger Bellatrix, an almost _caring_ young version of her.

Not failing surprise the onlookers and even the young duelist herself, Bellatrix's hand stretched out. Hermione whimpered at the soreness she still felt, even magic couldn't instantly resolve the effects of a spell that powerful, but took the mad witch's hand despite her judgments. Electricity struck her in the physical contact. Hermione thought back to when the woman leaned over her, a knife in her hands and slipped into the girl's skin. Such a sobering feeling of being alive, though not to say it wasn't accompanied by something gruesomely painful at that time. As if her thoughts had been heard by Bellatrix, the woman's eyes trailed to her arm. Hermione's sleeves were pushed back, revealing twin pale arms. Bruises spotted a small portion of them, but nothing more than that. “It's a proper duel. No sense in dishonoring myself by killing you, pet.” Bellatrix murmured, then seemed to be lost in thought. Hermione admitted to herself she missed the woman's touch when she let go, but Bellatrix's eyes never left her, only flickering from her forearm to Hermione's face. She briefly wondered if Bellatrix could feel it too, the undeniable pull. Would she deny it if confronted? Hermione did not know, but to her own quiet surprise, she could find no willpower to pursue that line of questioning. The duel had taken its toll and the girl was _tired_ , so tired that Hermione couldn't bring herself to be upset at the outcome. Overall, it had taken almost thirty minutes of nonstop fighting and honestly, the young witch was slightly impressed with herself. The Battle of Hogwarts had been much longer but she had places and time to rest. Here, there was only Bellatrix.

They all returned to the dinner table after shrugging off their outwear, Hermione's stomach grumbled with need. Hermione wasn't sure how to feel about the smirk she saw from one sister and the frown from the other. “I'll look you over if you will allow me, Hermione. You never know what kind of nasty spells my sister is capable of...” Narcissa offered, her lips deepened the frown when she spoke her afterthought, “or I suppose you do.”

“Oh hush, it's all in the past.” Bellatrix said with a wave. “I will say this is the most excitement I've had in months.”

Hermione felt herself mutely surprised at the admission and was unable to stop herself from nodding. “I'm alright, Narcissa. Thank you.” Hermione said, then turned to Bellatrix. “How unwise I'd be to say you weren't a skilled opponent. I've never quite had the honor to fight someone like that.”

Then something impossible happened. Bellatrix gave her a genuine smile and even if its source were pride, Hermione still felt pleasure course through her veins. “That almost sounds like a compliment, Muddy.”

Certain emotions presented themselves to the girl in the form of pride, something almost bubbly, and guilt as usual. Pride because it was a message, an approval of sorts if not a crumb of _acceptance_. A bubbling feeling because her juvenile thoughts similar to what muggles considered 'puppy love' was the only thing that Hermione could compare that emotion to. For a new couple, everything is a mystery to be solved- whether it be one's favorite colour or their deepest, darkest secret- it did not matter. That kind of thirst for knowledge was one in the same that the girl was experiencing. Then finally, guilt. What a scoundrel of a feeling, an emotion that has nothing positive to offer. Anger had its usefulness, sadness had its encouragement, happiness had its glory, but guilt washed over Hermione like ocean waves capsizing a sailing boat. Absolute destruction of everything that ever was, everything that made the young gryffindor who she was. In the privacy of her own head behind incredibly impregnable walls, Hermione could admit a small attraction to the eldest Black sister. Small being an understatement. Lips previously decorated in a smile flipped, then leveled to an indifferent straight light. _Yet another mood change. Why am I not surprised?_ Hermione thought dryly. Her fingers delicately balanced a glob of porridge in a polished silver spoon. Only fitting that the Black family have utensils that could harm another- werewolves, that is. Surely Andromeda knew this and had warned Mr. Lupin about dining with the Tonks' extended family, but Hermione assumed he never visited the Blacks anyhow. Not after Sirius. “Take it as you will.” Hermione simply replied.

The mood soured and Hermione's words earned her a 'hmpf' in response. The family and Hermione ate in silence, the scraping against porcelain bowls the only noise announced in the room. Once finished, Hermione departed but not before Narcissa reminded her of their meeting scheduled later that day. How punctual this witch was, but Hermione sensed an ulterior motive since there was something that was off about the blonde witch today. She seemed more rigid, focused, and for a reason unbeknownst to Hermione, Narcissa even seemed desperate for control. The young witch had watched Narcissa through a hidden side glance, saw emotions pushing at the mask the blonde sister loved to wear. Hermione nodded to her and bowed graciously to Narcissa in her departure, but she had also seen the _jealousy_ clearly written on the older sister's face. She could only imagine it was because Hermione held a greater respect for her sister and somehow this upset her.

Hermione decided to bulldoze her way through the library, her hands sought books to aid her in her unrelenting pursuit of her mind's greatest question- anything and everything that had to do with the curse and Bellatrix. A gold-trimmed black grandfather clock chimed solemnly and at first, only one note came out. An hour passed and then the clock struck twice which captured the bookworm's attention. Only mid-way through her leisure did Hermione realize that perhaps her current goal was futile. Narcissa's imminent meeting might hold all the answers for her and besides, it wasn't like the girl was making progress like this. Another thought lingered at first, but grew impossible to ignore. Hermione pushed leaned back in her chair, checking left and right for any sign of life. When stillness met her, Hermione, left her desk and approached a small section of family archives. Detailed histories of the Black family was mostly biographical in their nature, though if one family member passed before they could create such, another relative close to them could write it for them. She wondered who would've written Bellatrix's if she had perished at any point in the past. Narcissa, perhaps. The only person Hermione could possibly think of, or maybe Rodolphus Lestrange. The girl grimaced. A rather nasty emotion bubbled in Hermione's gut, a certain hate for the man whose fate lied at Azkaban. She knew Bellatrix had reclaimed her title from her maiden house, but did that mean the woman was no longer married? Hermione did not even know if it were possible for purebloods to divorce and she thought it highly frowned upon. Hands trailed the spine of books twice over until she settled on a book that seemed recently removed for it held no dust, pulled it from its place and opened it. The yellowed pages written over in faded quill-marks introduced the reader in the book's early pages. As Hermione searched on, the ink grew bolder and newer, her eyes landed on the third Cygnus Black's chapters. _Their father,_ Hermione thought to herself.

Cygnus Black the Third, a bitter memory to his offspring. Though the Black family had never interested Hermione before her fifth year, his name was still passed around like girlish chatter and it was hard to like the man. Perhaps in the Slytherin House his name held respect, part of Ravenclaw as seeing as though Rosier, Druella's maiden house, had wed her to him. _What a terrible tradition!_ Hermione thought, her stomach turned upset at the mentioning of their union. Since Hermione thought the man as a cruel if not reserved and ill-tempered being, did Druella feel the same? Tonks have revealed to her a few family secrets that contained horrifying content like abuse and obedience. It's a wonder how two of the three daughters turned out as decent as they had, and the remaining sister had a shot at redemption. A lightness touched her heart, nearly caused it to soar. Hermione identified it as hope and she supposed it was foolish. That is what people would see her beliefs as.

Hermione's eyes scanned the text, reading:

**_Cygnus Black III, son of Pollux Black and Irma Crabbe_ **

_“I, Cygnus Black the Third, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, begin to write my life on these pages in the year 1971 at the age of 33.”_

There were a couple paragraphs that followed those words detailing events Cygnus Black deemed important. It appeared this was around the start of Voldemort's first reign, when he was known as Tom Riddle. Cygnus was charmed by the man eleven years his senior. Although technically a half-blood, Riddle's blood-line was the most respected name among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, for therein lied Salazar Slytherin's descendants. They had went mad with centuries of inbreeding, instability in the blood encouraged with sibling and cousin weddings. Not that incest wasn't uncommon in these pureblood families anyways, but at least there was more of a variety now to at least limit it to a third cousin if necessary.

_“My wife Druella Black, formerly known as Druella Rosier, has begotten me three daughters. My eldest Bellatrix has reached the age of twelve and she has shown amazing aptitude in spell-casting. My wife and I will introduce her to the Dark Lord when she has completed her studies at Hogwarts on the insistence of the Lord himself for even the child herself has impressed him. I have worked through Bellatrix's childhood antics with a grip and she has yet to disappoint me from that day forth.”_

Hermione's eyes paused their movements. _Childhood antics? What could Bellatrix have gotten into that displeased him so that it's worth mentioning?_ Hermione wondered.

_“My middle child Andromeda will attend Hogwarts next year and my youngest, Narcissa, will attend the year after that. I hope to secure suitors for all of my children before my eldest has finished her studies. Perhaps Riddle might even throw his name into the lot, but I can only hope.”_

All of a sudden bile rose in the girl's throat and she shut the book, deciding she had enough of the nefarious Back's words for the time being. Her stomach lurched Hermione let out a vocalization akin to a cat's mewling, though more violent in nature as she gagged. The thought of a father using their _child_ as a bargaining chip, as a stepping stone in a social climb to a revolting man like Voldemort...it befuddled her. Hermione guessed Voldemort to be in his forties by that time! She thought back to what Ginny had said and her heart ached, her stomach threatened to blow its contents. The girl found her way to an arm chair and took a seat, her chest rose and fell as she tried breathing. Eventually, Hermione's heart-rate returned to normal. _Curse Andromeda and damn this entire family to hell!_ Hermione thought bitterly, but she knew her words would fail in their meanings. Her eyes sought out the clock and just in time, as she barely had five minutes to sprint to Narcissa's office. She decided to return to the book at a later time, shelved it without so much as an extra glance towards its pages. Hermione's sickness turned into a burning hatred for each step. Arranged marriages weren't as common in the muggle world, but not unheard of and it deeply affected the young witch. Feelings begrudgingly grew more intense each day Hermione attended the manor and the thought that Narcissa and Bellatrix, yes even her, had to marry their chosen without so much input stuck in her as irritating as a thorn in her side would be. Maybe even more so.

By the time Hermione found her way to Narcissa's office (not without Pinky's help), she had a minute to spare. The black door had ' _Narcissa_ ' written on it in beautiful script and she knocked beside the word, then took a step back and shuffled her feet awkwardly. Almost instantly, the floor was pulled back and revealed the scene inside. Narcissa was sat at her desk, her hand pointed at the door with little effort. It seemed all the sisters were gifted in wandless magic in some way or another, Hermione noted, as she entered when Narcissa waved her in. The blonde's study was everything one might've thought it to be. Towards the back of the room sat the woman's large cherry-wood desk, a leather swivel chair that held the witch. Behind her was a wall of shelves, books and photographs decorated it. It was apparent that they were dusted weekly as the shelves themselves looked pristine. To the right of the girl laid three, slender windows about ten feet apart. Each held stained glass, each holding an animal she could not quite make out from her distance. Purple and black curtains adorned them and were drawn back, which allowed yellow light to fill the room. Narcissa's eyes looked striking in the sunlight and the thought made Hermione blush. Her feet lost their balance but she caught herself, though it still amused the older witch. The smirk on her face said it all. “Nice to see you, Hermione. Have a seat.” Narcissa gestured, and for the first time, Hermione noticed half-moon spectacles sat on the bridge of her nose that were not unlike the previous Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's.

“Good afternoon, Narcissa. What was it you wished to speak to me about?” Hermione asked.

The older woman stood when the girl took her seat across from her and strolled over to the window. Upon closer inspection, the farthest window to the left held a peacock made out of stained glass. The animated portrait frolicked in the wheat-grass fields depicted in the scene, even every so often it released a soundless call. In the middle window was a dove, clutching a clipping of some plant unknown to Hermione, but the flowers she saw there were beautiful. They almost looked like orange carnations, though miniature in size. Then the last window off to the right was a dragon, seemingly docile if one wasn't afraid of the smoke billowing from its nostrils. The dragon was made up of black and green- absolutely inspired by the Slytherin's color choices. It did not take much intelligence to assume each animal represented each member of the Malfoys; Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco. What was peculiar to Hermione was the dragon egg under the juvenile serpent cousin's wing on the glen it stood on. The girl had not long to examine that for a deeper meaning since a clearing of the other woman stole her attention. “I want to have quick chat about a few things. Firstly, how are you?” Narcissa asked.

“How am I?” Hermione repeated for confirmation.

Narcissa leaned against the edge of her desk in front of the girl. “Yes.”

“I'm...managing. I'm well.” Hermione said unsure. The blonde sister wore a frown and she knew then that she had chosen the wrong response.

The older witch's jaw squared. “You'd do well not to lie to me, Ms. Granger.” Narcissa said evenly.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at this and she crossed her arms, adopting a certain child-like petulance. “I'm fine. Why do you keep switching it up on me? What do you want to know me as, Granger or Hermione?” Some words came out more as a croak and it softened Narcissa, her eyes not as hard as they previously had been.

“I do not know how to navigate this with you, sweet girl, but I wish to know you as both.” Narcissa stated. Hermione would've been embarrassed to much such a outright declaration, such an _honest_ answer, but bravery was not her strong-suit. Ironic as the traits typical Gryffindor's exhibited, but relationships were a whole different avenue that brought out the coward in the girl. Voldemort? No problem. The Black Sisters? Might as well feed the girl to an Chinese Fireball dragon.

A chuckle pulled Hermione from herself. “You should be afraid, my little peach.” Narcissa purred. The girl was sure she had foolishly entered a trap orchestrated by the youngest Black sister. After all, they were alone in this room and the door laid a good twenty to thirty feet behind her. “There's no need for escape. I would never do anything to harm you...unless you desired it.”

“Narcissa, now that we've confirmed my mood, what else is there?” Hermione pushed and struggled to keep the woman's gaze. Her reddened cheeks did not help.

The woman hummed and sauntered across the gap between the two, resting her hands on the armrests of Hermione's chair. Narcissa leaned down and brushed so close to Hermione that their foreheads were barely an inch apart. “Are you ready for the ball tomorrow? I'm expecting reporters, perhaps a fight breaking out, the usual for these kinds of events. Although this is not a lighthearted event, now is it?” Narcissa murmured, as if she were talking to herself.

“Because you want to rebuild your family's image.” Hermione answered.

“That is only a perk, Hermione. You're the brightest witch of your age but yet you still do not understand.” Narcissa sighed. She moved a hand to cup the girl's jaw, her thumb rubbed over the smooth, pale cheek. It was all too tempting for her: the blue eyes that wanted to possess her, the soft, tender touch with which Narcissa held her with, and her intellect. That was by far the sexiest thing about the blonde witch to Hermione. Narcissa's lips pulled back into a radiant, knowing grin before those possessive things seized the young witch's. They craved each other, devouring one another like starved cannibals. There was a need growing in both of them as Narcissa pulled Hermione from her chair and sat the girl on her desk. Hands rested on her hips as Narcissa continued her tongue's assault on the girl. Hermione could only respond with her own moans. It was overwhelming. Her eyes flew to the window that held the dove. Narcissa was a tender thing, but strong in her own right. Hermione's arms hung loosely around the blonde witch's neck, only tightening when she felt a roll of Narcissa's hips. A languished sound bubbled from her, one that signaled need. Lips removed for hers and found their way on the girl's neck, fervent in their ministrations.

“There is so much you don't know-” Narcissa's mouth suctioned a patch of Hermione's skin.

A dazed Hermione's brow furrowed. “What?”

“But you'll figure it out in time.” The older woman simply said, then reached behind Hermione to hold onto the edge of her desk.

The gryffindor's mouth remained open, a question dangled off of it but never fell. The cause was clear- Narcissa rough thrusting was the _only_ thing on her mind. The woman could be stony sometimes, but in this moment she looked soft. Narcissa's grunts betrayed that Hermione's judgments and her hips worked overtime to roll into the girl's. The repetition of the noise aroused her to no end.

“Is this how you like to be fucked, _ma chère_?” Narcissa panted out, her hand firmly grasped Hermione's jaw. “You thought I was angry with you because you went through my things but I had told you the library was yours to look through. That book was in the library was it not?”

Hermione whined when the blonde had stopped kissing her, but at least she hadn't stopped her hips from moving. “It was...so then why were you upset?” She was still delirious but the girl sought answers.

“I was distraught by what I saw, with you and Andy.” Narcissa confessed. The young witch whined when she felt those hips slow until they eventually stopped. “Offended because you used _my_ desk for such actions.”

Shame radiated from Hermione's core and she could not meet Narcissa's gaze, not even when the woman tilted her head in order for the girl to look at her. “I'm sorry, Narcissa. It was inappropriate to even do it in your home and I was not thinking how you'd feel about my mingling with your sister.” Hermione murmured. When Narcissa started to laugh, she felt a blot of terror strike her. The two younger sisters had a knack for moments where they mirrored their eldest sibling.

“I'm not upset that it happened, at least not wholly. I'm upset that you were taken where I should have taken you. Andromeda should know better than to claim you like that.” Narcissa cooed, but a slight pout hung from her lips.

Her head swam. _Narcissa is upset because_ ** _she_** _wanted to be the one who did...those things to me?_ Hermione's eyes widened at the realization and her breathing ceased. Amusement flickered in blue eyes that watched her and waited for the girl to swallow her shock. “Why? I mean, why me?”

Narcissa pressed her nose against Hermione's and brushed back and forth in a sweet nuzzling motion, her shoulders dropped as a small smile painted her mouth. “It is inevitable that someone would fall for you, is it not? You're very tempting.” She teased and just like that, talking was abandoned once more in pursuit of a more erotic past-time. This time, the kisses were slower. Narcissa had already claimed her, if the kiss bruises on the girl's neck were enough proof of that, and now it seemed the witch only wanted to share tenderness with her.

“I don't know if I can continue this, Narcissa. I feel guilt over Andromeda still.” Hermione pulled away and voiced the thought that had been occupying her mind.

“Do you not trust that my sister and I are well-behaved enough to share you?” Narcissa asked, a raised eyebrow questioning her.

Hermione shook her head and blushed, images of the two women in her flashing through her mind. She grew irritated at the smirk she received. “Get out of my head! And how likely is that, Narcissa? You were at the table last night. She rejected me.” Hermione's hurt voice whispered. It was confusing and nearly overpowering how much the witch had affected her in so little of time. Never before had feelings stirred quite so intensely for another in this way, and Hermione wasn't sure she enjoyed that painful tugging.

“My sister, much like you, lacks tact. She's never been a fair match against our Bella. It seems only fitting she'd do something as foolhardy as that to help you in a way.” Narcissa explained, a thoughtful look crossed her features.

“Help me? Help me by breaking my heart? Rather horrid way of going about it.” Hermione said bitterly.

Narcissa shook her head and held the girl in her arms, the embrace surprised Hermione. She melted into the older woman anyway. “Bellatrix has some vendetta against you. I have a suspicion on why, but that is not the conversation to have at this time. However knowing this, Hermione, it makes sense she chooses to taunt you, belittle you. Perhaps Andromeda did not wish for those occurrences to increase. I will not reveal our dealings with my older sister at this time either. I am not a seer and I cannot predict how she will react. I hope you understand. Now let's wash up for dinner.”

When Hermione had returned to her room to freshen up, the weights on her shoulders only felt heavier. Dinner was another quiet affair and even Bellatrix had barely said a word, only shrieking at the elf and pouting once her blonde sister scolded her. Not even Hermione tempted her tonight. Draco seemed to have been running late or was not attending dinner at all. The girl imagined he did have a life, after all. She briefly wondered what would happen to her budding friendship with the boy if he knew what had transpired in his mother's office. Hermione's fingers touched the base of her neck as if she went to finger a small pendent that hung, but they found nothing but bare skin. Her thoughts returned to suckling on her smooth neck and she could only praise whoever created the glamour spell. Narcissa was territorial and Hermione did not lie outside of her claim, it seemed. As she was just thinking about the blonde, those eyes found hers. A soft smile greeted her, but unfortunately so did her sister's voice. “Andy, did I tell you me and your plaything had a riveting time this morning?” Bellatrix started. This was the first time the eldest sister's lips weren't covered in remnants of food, mostly due to her shockingly increase of control. The past few times Hermione had eaten with the woman, there was always some kind of liquid that lingered either corner Bellatrix's lips. So often that Hermione's more bold thoughts imagined wiping it away with her thumb.

She forced that thought away and fought the urge to hide her face, instead her hands busied themselves with her roll. “Your sister is talented, Andromeda. In another life, perhaps she would've made a wonderful auror.” Hermione said flippantly. She knew Bellatrix would not respond kindly to that.

“Watch your mouth, Muddy. I only have one regret and that is allowing the Ministry to take me. I should have died with my Lord.” Bellatrix hissed.

Hermione almost smiled as her assumption had been corrected, but now was not the time. “Dying for the wrong cause is worse than dying itself.”

“Dying for any cause is worse than dying, is it not?” Bellatrix asked, her anger temporarily abandoned although there was irritation in her words.

She regarded the woman for a moment and observed her, noticing the stiffness in Bellatrix's shoulders. Though Hermione was surprised when she felt pleased at the ex-prisoner's figure. It seemed living with her sister had helped restore at least some former glory to the woman's youth. Of course, one might think Azkaban took some things from its inmates and never returned it to them. At least that did not seem to be true for Bellatrix. Hermione wasn't sure why she felt relieved at that. “I will not bother you with a rant about why you should be a good person. You should just feel that with whatever heart you have left. Have you ever had one or were you born mad?” Hermione spat. The girl was surprised with herself and did not know where the anger came from. Maybe it was everything. The manor must have had some kind of charm on it, causing Hermione to be driven mad and submissive to the three sisters. But she knew that to due to no fault besides her own.

A chair moved back and its occupant fled, muttering only something about sending food to her chamber. Andromeda looked weary, her wrinkles more prominent and her shoulders sagged with each slow exhale. It was too much to bear. Hermione excused herself from the dinner and once she was out of the dining room, she chased after Bellatrix's shadow. Her feet carried her to her mind's obsession though she hadn't purposefully set that as her intention. They rounded on the second level and Bellatrix's figure only paused when Hermione yelled, “Wait!”

“You have no hold over me!” Bellatrix shrieked, and Hermione watched as the woman flew at her. She held her hands up but no blows came, only the woman's towering form arched over her. “You are lucky you are under my sister's protection otherwise I'd go back to Azkaban happy, just for the chance to kill you.”

“I don't believe that.”

Bellatrix's nostrils flared. “I don't need to you to believe anything, you stupid mud-”

“You healed me, Bellatrix.”

Hermione was met with a deadly stare. Those eyes betrayed their master and met the sight of the girl's arm before returning to her gaze. “I did.”

“You did. Why?” Hermione asked.

It seemed like the mad woman did not know herself. In fact, Hermione took her silence as something powerful, something meaningful. For some reason Bellatrix had done this, but for what reason? And more importantly, how?

“Ancient magic, taught to me by my master. Despite my certain...lack of skill when it comes to healing, I am still talented enough.” Bellatrix answered, a haughty tone in her speech.

“You still haven't answered why.”

“I do not answer to you. The only one I did is now dead.”

The older witch abandoned Hermione who stood in the hallway speechless. She knew she shouldn't feel guilty, but Bellatrix was obviously lost. Therefore she clung to all she knew and Hermione pitied her. The girl arrived back to her room and locked the door behind her, wishing for no more private visitors. Clothes fell to the tile floor of the en-suite bathroom, a flick of her want prompting the making of a bubble bath. When Hermione slipped into the tub, a sigh slipped out of her. All the stress of the day melted away and Hermione was left with thoughts of Narcissa; more specifically, the way the woman had _smelled_ her through their sexual tryst. Hermione knew Narcissa used the same products as she had been using since her arrival and the girl assumed the blonde got off on the scent somehow. Warmth, not from the water but from her center struck the girl suddenly. Her treacherous hand dipped below the bubbles and Hermione cupped herself, the fingers skimming across her folds. She rested her head against the edge of the tub and shut her eyes, allowing herself to be lost to bliss. A pressure started to build. Blue eyes popped into her vision, then brown, and those morphed to black! Three tempting sisters penetrated her thoughts as her fingers moved in and out of her, the only sounds in the room belonging the quiet splashing of the bath water and the girl herself. Today was just not Hermione's day, because as soon as the girl was about to climax, Pinky of all people apparated into her bathroom.

“What are you doing in here?” Hermione's shrill voice exclaimed.

Pinky bowed her head in immediate submission and held her ears over her eyes, but only then did Hermione notice the elf held a note in her hands. “Pinky apologizes to Miss Granger! Mistress wished for you to have this.” The elf squeaked and before Hermione could respond, Pinky vanished.

The note flew into the air and Hermione swiped to catch it. Disbelief filled her as she read the child-like scrawl.

_Hello, Muddy._

_I've been in my cage reflecting and we both know how important you will be to my future freedom. Despite the fact that you are impossibly irritating, Narcissa has deemed it fit for us to spend some_ **_quality_ ** _time together. After the ball, you will return to my room and we will begin the process of...all of this. Do not keep me waiting._

_Yours,_

_BB_

There was no choice for Hermione to consider and part of her felt relieved at that. After all, it was easier to claim that Bellatrix was forcing her to do such a thing. Much easier than it was for Hermione to admit that perhaps getting to know Bellatrix would not be the worst thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so next chapter will be the ball. That chapter may end up being the longest to date. Bear in mind that although each sister has some form of relationship with Hermione, some are obviously more progressed than others. I still haven't made up my mind up about whether it'll be all three sisters and Hermione, but I'm starting to get an idea. Hope you guys liked this one! :)   
> P.S. All mistakes are mine. Some nights I stayed up super late on this chapter so if you see anything outrageously funky, feel free to let me know!


	7. Where Loyalties Lie

One bushy-haired witch would swear she was never a dreamer, at least not in the artistic fashion. Hermione Granger's dreams were based in reality- achievable. The wizarding world was already more than one can dream of, truth be told. Or at least that was her opinion, but she was finding herself more and more distant. One might say distracted even, and Hermione was not able to pinpoint when her mind broke. When she woke up that morning in a large comforter and with goose-down pillows underneath her head, only then did she realize how quickly time had passed.

Around this time a year ago, Ronald had returned to the duo and destroyed the locket. Her day was already off to a bad start, although wouldn't she consider most of her days started that way? More often than not, her dreams were utterly terrible and her mind never shut off. The girl reckoned she should visit someone about this, even if she'd have to enter an Unbreakable Vow, swearing her therapist to secrecy. Hermione's friends were great supplements, but it did not fix the problem at hand. The problem being Hermione herself. Her thoughts returned to the forefront of her mind and she thought about how just in a few months, it'd be the anniversary of her torture in the exact manor she was staying in. It would also be the anniversary of Dobby's death. She would never forget that sacrifice. What fact was also apparent is Hermione would have to return there during that time in order to review Bellatrix's memories. This 'contract' of sorts had an expiration date of a year and in that time, they needed to make real progress. Apparently so much so that _Bellatrix_ even wished for her company that night.

That morning left Hermione feeling sloth-like, the girl did not roll out of bed until it was already noon. She visited the dining room and the large table had vanished and instead catering tables were pushed against the wall, white tablecloths dressed over them. Some of the less perishable foods were already laid out in a decadent platter: little finger sandwiches that tempted the girl with Italian meats, cheese cubes with toothpicks stabbed through their centers, and more than a plethora of options. Hermione's stomach growled and her eyes darted around suspiciously, snatching the small sandwich and a cube of cheese. She folded a napkin around the food as to not leave crumbs, she knew Narcissa would be very displeased if there was even a glimpse of dust sullying the woman's event. Time passed by quickly and before she knew it, there was a knocking at her door. Hermione had been so lost in her thoughts that an hour had passed by. Her eyes drifted from the clock she checked and opened the door, greeting a _stunning_ witch.

Narcissa strolled in to the girl's room, but Hermione could not focus her attention to whatever the blonde was about to say. The woman's body was clad in an emerald dress, the skirt was plated with extra cloth imbued underneath to help with its fluffed figure. A necklace of a dove not unlike the one Hermione saw in the window the day prior rested above Narcissa's cleavage and at this realization, Hermione forced her eyes upwards to greet the woman, but her eyes did not linger in such a formal manner much longer. The older woman's hair was pulled back in its standard hair clip, but the clip itself was a jeweled comb, with rubies and emeralds held in place on black metal. The only noticeable difference Hermione could see were the braids stretching across to be connected in the back, not in like fashion as a muggle Viking. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Good afternoon, Narcissa. How can I help you?”

“Isn't it obvious? It's time for you to get ready.” Narcissa said. The girl did not miss the sly look the woman gave her.

Hermione shut the door behind her and crossed her arms. “I was just about to get ready.” Hermione said, though Narcissa just responded with a roll of her eyes, launching into why the woman needed to assist her.

The Twilfitt and Tattings dress was summoned from the closet and Hermione could not hear anymore of Narcissa's rantings for she was stood still, only reanimating to lay the dress on the bed. With a flick of her wand, the blonde removed the plastic covering and the true beauty of the dress was revealed. Manicured hands tailed the beads that made up the constellations decorating the tulle skirt. Hermione knew the dress was beautiful, but this was a bit of an overreaction.

“Do you have any accessories to go with this?” Narcissa asked, but she sounded distracted.

Hermione shook her head but hesitated, then replied with a, “Hold on.” The girl retrieved the emerald necklace a small cloth pouch shoved into the lining of her trunk and held it out for Narcissa to see. Hands took it from her and laid it beside the dress, a note of disagreement ringing out. It took everything in the girl to not roll her eyes herself. “What's wrong with it?” Hermione asked defensively.

“I love the color but it doesn't quite match your dress. Would you mind if I altered the coloring of the gems? I can teach you how to change it back.” Narcissa offered.

She took a moment to consider it before slowly nodding in a reluctant bounce. “I suppose...” Hermione trailed off.

Narcissa's wand tip rested against the necklace as the woman murmured the spell with no sound and the emerald gems lost their coloring, instead replaced with some sort of light pink. “Much better. Pink is a beautiful color on you. Delicate, even. Seems fitting.” Narcissa commented, then beckoned Hermione closer. “I assume you've already showered?”

“Of course, but I can-”

Narcissa's hand held in the air, stopping her protests. “I am rather nervous about the ball and I wish for a distraction. Can I ask you of this, my little mouse?” Hermione only nodded, the reddened cheeks and the way her jaw refused to close made Narcissa laughed. The woman allowed Hermione privacy to change into the dress and once she returned, she only saw the awestruck expression upon her. If Hermione had any doubts about the witch's attraction to her, they were long abandoned after that moment because the eyes that bore through her were hungry. Narcissa might have forgotten herself if it were any other day. Brown eyes watched blue ones close, a sigh rang through the air and Narcissa sat on the corner of Hermione's bed. “Come here, girl. I'll do your hair.”

A half hour passed of Narcissa's effortless wrangling of the gryffindor's hair. First Andromeda, then her little sister. Hermione briefly wondered if Bellatrix had a more tender touch in her youth, a simple trade of digging daggers into teenagers for tender caresses of styling another one's hair.

“Bella taught Andy and I how to braid.” Narcissa answered casually. She was caught and the heat in her cheeks only intensive when the woman leaned forward to observe her. _That damned smirk_ , Hermione cursed to herself and earned an unrestrained laugh from the blonde witch. “I do not mean to hone in on your thoughts, my dear. Some of your thoughts are rather...loud enough to capture my attention. Anyways,” Narcissa murmured and when she put it like that, Hermione supposed she felt a little better. If it weren't the woman's fault, that led the girl to trust her companion that much more. She was tired of the people around her prying. It did nothing for them and it would cost Hermione everything- her integrity, her decency, her pride. Narcissa's continued speech regained her attention. “-you'd think Andy would have, but Bella insisted.”

It brought a smile doused with sorrow to Hermione's lips. Silence lingered as the girl hesitated to voice her question, but she was sure Narcissa would hear it in her thoughts anyways. “Narcissa, if I may...what exactly happened to your sister?” Hermione asked. An uneasiness settled between them when the blonde witch's hands paused. After a moment's timidness, the older woman finished the braid and handed Hermione a mirror, a proud albeit sad smile at her lips. “This is beautiful, thank you. I'm sorry if that crossed the line-”

“The line between sanity and madness is smaller that you'd think. You might say 'Well, it would take a lot for me to go mad, something tragic would have to happen to me' and I believe that is the case for my sister. I have only my memories to make assumptions, but it is not my story to tell.” Narcissa paused, her hands rested on Hermione's shoulders. “Perhaps she will eventually tell you it herself.” She added thoughtfully.

It did not give the girl much hope. Bellatrix was _not_ a fan of her and it was hard to see when the two could be amicable. She brought out the worst in the girl, made her moody and impulsive. Though if Hermione was honest with herself, sometimes she enjoyed it. Like the day before when they had dueled. With an interaction like that, Bellatrix's hand outstretched towards hers as if to say 'You can trust me'. But the girl could not, not now at least, in time. Hermione shook her head and sighed, questions answered but questions raised all the same. “She could have been something remarkable.” Hermione morosely thought aloud.

“Like you.” Narcissa whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Like me?”

The woman chuckled and caressed Hermione's cheek, her eyes stared intently into hers. “Like you. She was considered the brightest witch of our time and I have no doubt if fate had her fighting for the right cause, Bellatrix would be nearly identical to this time's heroine and that happens to be you, Ms. Granger.”

The name was said teasingly and Hermione hid half her face against Narcissa's dress. “Must you continue to embarrass me?” The girl groaned.

“I think it an insult if I did not. Now stand up, let me look at you.” Narcissa said, a twinkle lingered in her eye.

The dress was immaculate. It complemented Hermione's slender figure with a snug fit, somewhat tighter than it had been at the fitting. The thought only overjoyed Hermione as gaining weight for the girl was a struggle these days. As she looked into the mirror attached to the old dresser, Hermione found that she looked _alive_ , much more so than she had in over a year. She craned her neck left and right to examine herself fully, and the girl surmised she hadn't looked this _good_ since the Yule Ball. Or maybe ever. All that was missing was the-

Hermione could not help but smile when she felt cold metal brush against her neck as the blonde witch clasped the altered necklace from behind. “There you are.” Narcissa said, but her expression was unreadable to the girl. The clock chimed three o'clock and it put a damper on the moment, but it did not dull the shine in the older woman's eyes. “I have every intention of courting you, Hermione, know that. I don't think I could live with you belonging to someone else.” The admission threw the young witch for a loop and she did not know what to say about that. Although, it would be nice...

“I belong to no one. If you wish to...” Hermione blushed, as she struggled with the word, “ _court_ me, then you best prove those intentions soon. You never know if you'll have competition once I go back to Hogwarts.” She joked, but it seemed as though it fell flat if Narcissa's sudden mood change said anything.

The girl could see the ocean storm in the woman's eyes, who only gestured for Hermione to put on her shoes and follow her. She struggled to catch up with Narcissa's stride but soon found her place at the blonde's side. The silence was deafening and guilt shadowed her. What exactly had soured the mood? Had Narcissa really thought Hermione entertained other suitors? She cursed herself. Of course the woman would be upset at a statement like that. They could hear a small orchestra playing in the foyer in the next room over, and only a closed door stood in their way. Once the two witches entered the room, it appeared much fuller than it had that morning, Hermione noted. She felt steady hands pull her back into the shadow of the mezzanine's underside. Waiters floated around the room with trays and Hermione already spot Minister Shacklebolt alongside the redheaded patriarch, Arthur Weasley. All of a sudden, Hermione felt a hand grip her chin and she was forced to face Narcissa. “There is no chance for you to be won by someone else. I will always prove to be the better rival, _**believe that**_ , my dear.” Narcissa promised, pressing her lips to the gryffindor's in a hard kiss. With that, Narcissa left the shadows and stepped into her role as hostess, immediately greeting the Crabbe family. No one had noticed the exchanged between the two and Hermione was thankful for it. _She needs to be more careful!_ Hermione chided. Across the room she could see a smirk on the woman's face. _Fuck you_. The smirk deepened.

Dancing partners twirled in circles as the string quartet played a lively tune. Hermione's eyes widened at the buffet tables where laid a marvelous selection of decadent goods. A plate materialized in her hands as she strode alongside a particular table, then stacked an assortment of beautiful sweets onto its decorated surface. Sugar was somewhat of an addiction for the girl, one supported by her famous friend Harry Potter. The boy always had a box of chocolate malt balls for her, it seemed, and it never failed to drawn redness to the girl's cheeks when he offered said box. Hermione picked up a goblet of wine and as soon as the red drink touched her tongue, the girl felt it tasted rich in every sense of the word. The Blacks' wealth never ceased her amazement with how _expansive_ their wealth was, and could not figure out every asset the family owned though she had some ideas.

Hermione met Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood at a small, 'standing-only' table, relieved to sit her plate down. She took another sip before placing the cup down, her smile wide. “So, how are my girls doing?” Hermione asked, her fork skewered a piece off the raspberry-topped cheesecake on her plate.

“I'm quite well, Hermione, thank you!” Luna chirped. The quirky Ravenclaw wore a silver dress with blue accessories on her ears, wrists, and neck; the earrings dangled into a sun and a moon pair. Luna's eyes appeared light tonight, even more so, Hermione noted.

Her friend had a hard time with her home life, even if the sweet girl had not voiced it yet. Xenophilius Lovegood (whose daughter was a spitting image of him, truth be told) was not arrested for his actions against the Golden Trio, but it certainly was a blight to his reputation. Even his Luna barely looked at him anymore. After Hermione returned from her finding her parents, she spent a weekend with the girl and the tension was so thick it nearly suffocated her. Luna would be pleasant to her father though short, and Xenophilius' reverent, begging attitude made Hermione decide not to visit again. At least not until the man stopped begging for her forgiveness when it was already given. The gryffindor found it surprisingly easy to forgive him because it was for his daughter. Hermione looked at the girl and felt whatever tension her body held dissipate. She would have willing gone if the girl's father had asked because she would do anything for the girl. Always to protect Luna's child-like innocence, which had dulled in spirit. War left its scars and so certainly did kidnapping. Ginny's hand nudged Hermione's hand, all eyes unsuspecting to the movement. It made her lose her train of thought. “I'm glad to hear it! And you, Gin?” Hermione asked, her eyes dropped to the Weasley sister's plate.

“I'm _quite_ well, 'Mione. You're bound to be the talk of tonight with an outfit like that.” Ginny replied, a slight smirk on her lips as she pushed her plate closer to the brunette's. A brown clump that resembled a cookie crumble pudding settled on the edge of her plate and it made Hermione blushed. Not the pudding, but the ginger witch to her left. It seemed Harry's particular habit got picked up by Ginny, who had decided on getting the treat for the girl. “I'm not sure how you're still standing with even a shred of it on you with the looks you're getting.”

Hermione scoffed. “Surely not.”

Twin eyebrows shot up on her companion's face. “Surely so, look around you! Your witch can't take her eyes off of you.” Ginny teased.

_That_ got her attention and she followed Ginny's line of sight with a soft gasp. The girl was right, a witch _was_ staring at her, but she wasn't hers. At least, not to Andromeda. The older witch was froze and Hermione saw the rigidness of her shoulders, the clench of a tender jaw. More importantly, she saw desire lurk in the brown eyes that bore through her. Those eyes looked down at the skirt of Hermione's dress and much to the girl's surprise, a redness appeared on dour cheeks. Narcissa entered the scene from the girl's left, her head tilted down to her sister's in a private conversation. Andromeda's eyes flicked back to hers in a shy, almost juvenile way. Hermione didn't know whether she should cry or let her shyness win, so she settled on breaking the eye contact, then turned back to her friends. “Not mine.” Hermione murmured.

“What?” Ginny asked.

“Not. Mine.”

Ginny frowned and Luna moved closer to Hermione, whether consciously or subconsciously blocking Andromeda's heavy sight on her. Hermione met Ginny's gaze in full attention and gave her a wisp of a smile, though it deepened the slightest bit when she saw how beautiful her friend had dressed. Ginny wore a slim, maroon dress that reached her thighs, though the skirt was the exception to the otherwise tight-fitting cloth. It held layers of tulle that gave the outfit dimension, forced others to give it space. The distraction worked for a moment but when two pitying faces were looking at her, something in Hermione broke. She sniffled for a moment and then waved her hand in the air with a shake of her head. “It's pathetic, isn't it?”

“Love is never pathetic, it only exists. Love can be inspired by, used by any emotion. It is only there.” Luna said with a sad smile, her hand rested on the top of the girl's. “You feel passionately about her, what's gone awry?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and took a deep breath. Her fingers wrapped around her drink and she took another swig, then took a moment to steady herself. “I don't know.” she murmured. It were true, after all. She was unable, or more so _unwilling_ to confront the woman and the girl was so sure her gryffindor prowess had diminished partly, leaving her like a pup with its tail between its legs.

“You should have a _talk_ then.” her sweet friend replied sternly, almost unbecoming of the girl. Hermione would probably laugh if she saw her own expression, full of shock which caused the raising of thick eyebrows and a gaped mouth. The tone Luna used was not anything like the gryffindor was used to. “We have lived so much in such little time. Be bold, Hermione.” The words sounded like a warning, though more likely- her cowardice.

A simple nod was Hermione's reply, her head slowly craned back to spy her witch again. Disappointment deposited itself in her stomach, but thankfully Harry and Ronald arrived before that feeling grew too comfortable for the girl's tastes. The boys were dressed in near identical suits, the only differences being the color of their bowties- where Harry's was black and Ron's was red. The latter of the duo held a blush in his cheeks as he stared at Hermione, his eyes lingered almost perversely. It made her feel sick. _Strange_ , she thought to herself. Of all of her doubts, not one of them had to do with the relationship between Ron and her. Bitterness was all Hermione could taste, a slightly overwhelming yet subtle as can be would be an accurate assessment. At one point in time, she admitted she had a passing thought. It was only natural, since everyone around them were practically pushing this relationship forward to fruition. Everyone except Ginny, though when the redhead girl was a first-year she got her teasing in. She did not see what everyone else saw and that was the problem wasn't it? Hermione could not compare to Ron for the boy was not even in the same league as her. Terrible with his studies, terrible in combat- his one saving grace was because of one reason only- he was an excellent strategist. Pity that when it came to his own skill, Ron was somewhat better than mediocrity.

_I could take him easily_ , Hermione's thoughts hissed. The surprise at her emotions flaring caused her shoulders to stiffen, just for a fleeting moment before dropping. “Hello Harry, Ronald. I'm happy to see you both here, though I'll admit I'm somewhat disappointed.” Hermione said, a slight curve pulled at and end of her lips. “I figured you both would join me on vacation with the Blacks and Malfoys.”

“We were convinced that you wouldn't want to due to...well, never mind that,” Harry started. _At least he had the decency to look a little ashamed._ Hermione ignored the particular hardness to her thoughts. “But I promise you we would have if we had known.”

“I owled you, _both_ of you.” Hermione chided. Flames licked at her feet as anger worked up her body and she did not understand why her reaction was so...violent.

Ron's blush only darkened in color. “Yes, well, it was quite last minute now wasn't it?” Ron fired back.

The walls of her head pounded in response. Ron was certainly irksome tonight, much to her displeasure, and Hermione turned her head away. A spoonful of the pudding Ginny had gotten her was the only thing to pass her lips. _God, if this is how a pureblood lives...perhaps I wouldn't mind the lifestyle_ , Hermione thought, and her stomach churned in agreement. Those thoughts would do her no good to dwell on now. Her magical core could not be altered and therein lied the problem. While some like the Blacks (specifically Bellatrix, and perhaps Narcissa too) strongly believed in blood purity, it amazed her that the ignorance of her ' _betters_ ' clouded their minds to where it trumped rational thought. It had nothing to do with blood at all, and it made the multitudes of death more meaningless than thought prior.

Hermione felt someone behind her and at the very moment she looked into Ginny's eyes, she knew who it was. The girl did not need to see her to _feel_ her, for her body to scream at her with its demands and its aching for the woman. Even the woman's perfume called to her; scents of cinnamon, vanilla, and fresh linen. It was an odd mix for sure. She did not even have to look at her, only through her peripheral vision did Hermione see feelings so clearly swimming on the _intruder's_ face. Her heart hurt, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore/ The heart was used to functioning no matter the circumstances- be it obliviating her parents' memories, Narcissa's hot touches, Andromeda's shattering words, and even Bellatrix's deathly stare. Oh yes, her heart was _quite_ used to a beating. Perhaps that it is why Hermione refused to acknowledge her until she could feel the woman's annoyance, followed by a direct attempt at conversation. “Hello Harry, Ron, Hermione,” Andromeda paused, her gaze lingered on the young witch's face before she continued, “Ginny and...Ms. Luna Lovegood, isn't it?”

“Yes ma'am.” Luna chirped. It would've made Hermione smile under any other circumstance.

Andromeda's lips twitched. “Quite a pleasure to meet you. You and your father are quite the mystery.” The older woman commented, and Hermione hated that she adored that silent curiosity, a child-like fascination. It was as if Andromeda simply could not help herself much like Hermione could not. An example being her eagerness to be the first hand up during classes. Her fingers fidgeted along the side of her plate and of course it did nothing to change the solid appearance of the chinaware.

“I'd venture to say the same for you and your sisters.” _Well, that was bold._ Hermione waited for Andromeda's reaction.

“We are quite the talk, aren't we?” Andromeda said, a laugh filled the air. The girl found it suffocating.

She was surprised to find Luna's attention on her, but only for the briefest second. How the ravenclaw student managed to pin that smile on and it be genuine each time was lost on Hermione. She briefly wondered what her smiles looked like these days. Luna took a gentle bite of her sauce-covered bite, the whole table waiting impatiently for her response. “Quite...but you could always ask my aunt, or better yet my uncle.” Luna replied. Everyone wore the same face, save for the witches in conversation.

“You know as well as I do where your uncle is.”

“I hope one day he deserves better.” A chill ran down Hermione's spine. She was not sure which bothered her more, Andromeda's overall _presence_ , or Luna's hardened expression. Every so often, the soft girl morphed into something...tougher. No one would ever vocalize it, since they all had their own demons to face.

Andromeda nodded after the passing of slow silence. “One day, perhaps, though Lucius was always one to test another. I don't see him out for a long time.”

Hermione turned to face Andromeda with an incredulous look, then gave Luna the same expression. “Lucius? As in Lucius Malfoy?” she asked.

“Yes, he is my uncle by my father. After my father ran off with my mother, he changed his last name.” Luna said, her tone much gentler when replying to the young witch. The ravenclaw paused and turned her head to the ceiling, as if she could see her thoughts floating past her. “I think it suits me much better, don't you agree?” she added as an afterthought.

“So it does.” Hermione confirmed. The pounding in her head refused to cease and who could blame her? This _information_ riveted her. Now that it was pointed out, Hermione could see many similarities, even between Luna and Draco.

The two witches found a proper place to end their conversation, though it did not stop the boys and even _Ginny_ from questioning the poor dreamer. Luna took it in stride and admiration filled Hermione. She wasn't _blind._ Luna was beautiful in her own respects, of course physically, but there was something at a deeper level. Her heart was good through and through. Could Hermione say the same? Her eyes lingered on Luna's hands, skin made of marble and nails blunted into simple nails, a blue coat of polish on them. The girl sighed when she thought of Luna's boyfriend, Neville Longbottom. Would he understand her proclivities, her treachery? In true terms, Hermione knew she held no obligation to the boy and she was sure he held no contempt for Andromeda, but if she pursued something with Narcissa...what then? Loss was never easy and she was not sure if she was ready to lose everything all over again. An intrusive thought popped into her head. Forgiveness would not come to her if anything transpired between her and the eldest Black sister.

“So what sort of work are you having our girl doing, Andy? You mentioned needing our assistance in our invitations.” Hermione heard Harry ask from her left. The anger from earlier returned and her ears perked up, her eyes flickered to Andromeda.

Her heart stopped when those pitiful eyes returned her stare. Andromeda was beautiful and it would've pained Hermione to not notice. Exhaustion was evident in the woman, her eyes accompanied by bags, even the way she spoke. It almost sounded hoarse, much like her own voice sounded after a particular long cry. Fingers twitched at her side and it did not go unnoticed by her companion, whose eyes glanced at Hermione's hands. “As it turns out, my sister and I have decided we are more than enough for the task. I can't give away specifics, but I'll say it's a...family matter.” Andromeda replied smoothly.

A laugh was the last thing anyone expected, especially from Hermione. The girl herself was confused by her actions and was quick the down the rest of her wine. Guilt prodded at her when she spied Andromeda's disapproving frown, but she chose to ignore it. “After all is said and done, I daresay your family would be forever in my debt.” Hermione muttered.

“You're right, Hermione.” Andromeda said without much emotion in her voice. She heard an undercurrent of _something,_ but she couldn't decipher what.

“Must be a big favor then, considering your family's particular preferences for help.” Ginny added her input and some relief filled Hermione. Finally someone else had voiced her thoughts, hinted at an accusation! The way the sisters acted around the girl failed to leave her capable of her full abilities. Getting distracted was dangerous, be it in war or a clashing of words in an argument. Hermione learned that a long time ago.

The older witch bristled and Hermione could tell Ginny had unknowingly pushed a button, and before she knew it, her hand was already grasping the inside of Andromeda's elbow. “I am lucky to assist them and they're lucky to have me.” Hermione said, then stepped away from the table. “That reminds me- Andromeda, we had something to discuss?” _This is your opening, take it!_ Hermione thought. A familiar arm locked the girl's into it and she swore she felt her heart pulse through her skin, the same skin that was covered in goosebumps from the simple touch.

“Of course, excuse us.” Andromeda muttered.

Midway through the crowd, the stringed instruments had paused. Movement jostled the two witches and hands pulled them to opposite sides across the room. Hermione noticed two long lines formed and faced each other; her line consisted of mostly women and a few men. Andromeda was one of the few women on her side, though she still has more of the same sex on her side than there were men on Hermione's. Then, as magical as ever, the music changed to a sensational tune. Arms hooked each one of hers and pushed her forward, the action elicited a gasp from the girl. Two beautiful women anchored her and led her in the formal dance, their arms only leaving once safely transported to her companion. She liked to think she did the same for the girls. Hermione failed to realize just how close she and Andromeda were now, and the woman's hands planted themselves: one on the girl's hip, the other holding Hermione's hand in hers. “I'm sorry.”

The apology fell flat. “Don't be. It was my misunderstanding.” Hermione spat.

Andromeda flinched and the girl couldn't find it in her to care much. It saddened another part of her. “If I could explain-”

The woman was cut off as they were both thrown into a dance with different partners. Their eyes locked across the room and those desperate ones pleaded with Hermione. Even when she broke the contact herself, she could still feel Andromeda. Her male partner was handsome, but so obviously not her type. Hermione failed to notice the frown her dancing partner wore, but it did not matter much longer because she was thrown into those traitorous arms once more.

“As I was saying,” Andromeda grumbled, “if you gave me a chance to explain, you'll know my true feelings.”

_That'll only give her another chance to hurt me_ , Hermione thought angrily. She was torn between wanting to hear the woman out or telling Andromeda to bugger off. Either way, she couldn't deny how much the woman's touched soothed her. Her jaw had started to ache, a sign of the girl's stressed carried out through the clenching of her perfect teeth, but the soreness was gone. Her own body settled in this lover's hold, Andromeda's gentle yet firm hands guided her. “I don't know.” Hermione said. Her teeth held her bottom lip in between the rows of pearly whites as she mulled it over. _“_ You have one minute.”

Relief filled her partner's face and a vicious feeling briefly took her, made Hermione feel as though she should retract her statement if only to hurt the woman a fraction of how Andromeda had hurt her. “Bellatrix would make this process more difficult if she knew that I was attempting to court you. I wanted our...” Andromeda blushed, which made her heart skip a beat, “relationship to remain hidden, but only for now. My sister's freedom is my current priority.” Andromeda murmured, low enough for Hermione to hear her.

She felt conflicted. On one hand, Andromeda was choosing Bellatrix over her and the dull ache in her head thudded with each moment of silence as Hermione thought about them. “Priority.” Hermione repeated.

“Do not mistake me, my dear. Bellatrix is a burden, a responsibility, one that I would rather die than extend the weight of such to you. You've been through enough.” Andromeda's words called out to her, sought her forgiveness. _That damned voice of hers_ , Hermione cursed. A hand squeezed hers and she fought until her will gave out, her eyes eventually meeting Andromeda's.

It made sense, but it did not make it hurt any less. She chose to voice her feelings. “It still hurt.” Hermione whispered. Her vision became blurry and she would've thought she was going blind if she had not felt the tears gathering.

Andromeda's eyes scanned around them for a second before her thumb swiped under Hermione's lower lash-line. “I know, little one. I want to reassure you that I feel things for you that I haven't felt in years.” The older witch admitted, and Hermione could see a guilty conscience with ease. She was already so used to her own.

“In years?” Hermione asked. Her stomach, which momentarily soured with Andromeda's appearance, was now flipping over in the girl's abdomen. A feeling only known to her as _butterflies_ fluttering about.

A shy smile graced red lips. “Love is an incredible thing, is it not? So many ways to love one another.” Andromeda murmured as a thoughtful look crossed her features. One hand broke away from Hermione's side and the other lifted, twirling the younger witch. Hermione spun across the dance floor but stilled as a warm hand anchored her back, the skirt of her dress swished as the motion stilled. The witches look into each other's eyes for a fleeting second and then the gaze broke, much to the girl's displeasure. “Perhaps I should not talk so cryptically?” She added, a sheepish grin followed the question.

“Please. I've had my fair share of ambiguity during my lifetime and I'm too...exhausted to try to make a guess of things.” Hermione replied smoothly.

“It hurts me to know this.”

“Why?”

Andromeda pursed her lips. “You've given your life for a cause you did not have to join but did so out of the goodness of your heart. That's hardly short of being extraordinary.”

Hermione felt her heart pulse at the compliment. Surely Andromeda said it in jest, but the look she gave to the girl somehow led her to believe the older woman. “And you believe that?” she asked, a bashful tone honeyed the words.

“Of course. You're much too good for someone like me, anyways. Or people like us.” Andromeda muttered, her eyes flickered to somewhere past the girl's head. The duo pivoted and the younger witch briefly wondered what she meant by that.

Confusion festered in Hermione's mind. Her eyes fell past her partner's aubergine-clad shoulder and she recognized blonde hair, the emerald dress, and those damned (admittedly beautiful) blue eyes. Narcissa was dancing towards them with a random party-goer and the girl's lips fell into a frown. “What do you mean-” Hermione started.

“You are worthy of so much more, my dear.” Andromeda rushed, her eyes scanned their surroundings as they circled each other. Their palms extended towards each others' and Hermione could tell her companion was nervous, anxious even. “You don't have to help us with our problem. It was unfair for us to even ask in the first place.” Her voice sounded wounded to the girl's ears and if the tremble of the older witch's hands were anything to analyze, Hermione might thought her in trouble of blacking out. However, no body fell to the floor but instead Andromeda's arms left her, and their place was filled with Narcissa's instead. The two parties had switched partners on cue as the music sped up, traditional hymns with beautiful voices rushed out lyrics of a foreign tongue. It would have been quite the beautiful scene if Hermione did not miss the company of her new partner's sister.

Narcissa danced with more grace than Andromeda, where the brunette's feet were somewhat timid in their stepping and her younger sister's were deliberate and precise. Even Narcissa's hold on the girl was firm, but allowing. Strong yet soft in its behavior, its care. Hermione would not have to worry about stumbling under Narcissa's lead. In fact, it appeared as if the woman was trying to teach her in her own subtle way. “Are you enjoying yourself, Hermione?” Narcissa inquired.

She had to admit the woman still had her stunned. Her stare was unyielding on the blonde's features, soaking in each line, each shadow, and willed it to memory. “I am, though your sister has dampened my spirits a bit.” Hermione murmured, half in jest half in hurt.

“Do tell, Andy has always been the fickle one.” Narcissa sighed, but she could see the mirth in those eyes.

Hermione glanced to Andromeda that seemed to have danced her way with her partner towards the back of the foyer, and the woman twirled in the gap between the double staircases. “I think your faith in a...” Hermione struggled, her lips tasted the newness of the word, “relationship is folly at this point. She has made it clear she is not able or, more like, unwilling.” Hermione said. She heard a huff from her partner and thought it an adorable action despite the conversation.

There always seemed to be a heat to Narcissa's touch, and Hermione thought it ironic for the woman's outwardly cold demeanor. Though tonight there was no trace of such- there was the typical pureblood air around the woman, the feeling of superiority and tradition practically oozed from the woman- but instead, the girl found Narcissa to be a picture of happiness. She even _looked_ younger than Hermione thought possible, but it was not like the woman appeared that old anyways. If Hermione had not attended school with Draco, she would have thought Narcissa to be in her late-twenties rather than her early-forties. Prior to her line of thinking, Hermione had not felt the familiar trailing in her mind, the polite prodding of a touch already past certain walls. She already knew the woman heard her thoughts before those irresistible lips pulled back into a smirk, and Hermione could not help but think the woman looked her sexiest like this- full of power, of confidence. “My, my. Before you ask, I wasn't trying to intrude,” Narcissa teased, her eyes lingered on Hermione's lips, “but you are so _wonderfully loud_.”

“Please don't.” Hermione groaned. She couldn't stop herself from hiding her face into the woman's bosom and could not find it in her to care. _Onlookers be damned_ , Hermione thought.

Narcissa put on a fake pout. “Don't what? I take it as flattering. To think you find me so-” Suddenly, the woman looked vulnerable and everything in the girl's body ached to soothe her. Teeth trapped pink flesh in between its rows and Hermione wanted nothing more than to place her lips against- “ _attractive_! It gives me an entirely different feeling than I have ever felt when desired by another.”

The girl cocked her head, a scoff already confessed her disbelief as she narrowed her eyes. “Not even for your husband?” Hermione ventured.

“Not even then.” The statement sent her into a stupor. She almost missed it when Narcissa said, “...so sorry for this, but remember: united front, yes?”

“I'm sorry?” Hermione asked, but she was yet again tossed into someone else's arms.

A triad of black greeted her: coal eyes void of any emotion besides notable disgust, a dark dress with a good portion of its torso covered by a tight corset, and raven-haired curls that fell far past her companion's shoulders. Not exactly how Hermione wanted to be tossed between the sisters. The snarl that emitted from her new dance partner made her chest tighten and she did not know its source, but she knew the hands that now held her were not kind. Unlike the witch's younger sister, Bellatrix's grasp was tight. It bordered painful until it caused Hermione to yelp. An emotion passed through the former Death Eater's eyes before Hermione could analyze it and instead her own eyes fell to the ever present scowl that framed those gracious lips so. “You're absolutely vile! If it weren't for the sake of appearances, I wouldn't be touching your filth self.” Bellatrix snarled, then her mood suddenly shifted. A vicious smile replaced the previous emotion, but a level of disdain was held within it. “Little Muddy wants to whore herself out to the sisters of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!” Bellatrix exclaimed, but quiet enough only the two of them could hear.

Rage rattled in Hermione's chest. “Shut your horrid mouth! I could _never_ be interested in the likes of you!” she spat.

“I think you're lying, pet. I bet your dainty little fingers dip beneath your knickers every night thinking of me.” Bellatrix cackled and Hermione felt sick. She willed her mind's walls to barricade her thoughts. _Surely the woman did not know of her proclivities_ , she wondered.

Hermione shook her head and her mouth felt bitter, as if the words were saturated with unpleasantness. “You're as mad as the stories say you are.” Hermione grimaced.

Her partner spun her fast in a split-second and she would have crashed if Bellatrix had not gripped her wrist. The girl could have done without the bone-breaking grasp though. An arm that snaked around Hermione's waist drew her closer to the leaning body that hovered over her and she felt a hand grab her jaw. It beckoned the girl to stare at its mistress and when a thumb swiped across her bottom lip, she could not decipher whether it was a phantom touch or reality. “They don't do me justice in the papers.” was the woman's teasing reply. Whether it was to her own admission or not, Hermione always felt somewhat conflicted about the woman's infamy. Even specific memories (those related to Bellatrix's crimes, that is) that proved her innocence during her trial did not prove much to the extreme gossip-hogs. The younger witch often found herself defending the woman, if she admitted or not, when she visited her friends. Harry still held contempt for the Black sister and Hermione could not blame him, but she always reminded the boy of the trial.

“ _I know, Hermione, but she was apart of_ _ **his**_ _cause. Sirius didn't die by her hand but she bloody might as well have killed him!”The boy exclaimed._

_The two were nestled inside of a muggle bar called 'The Crested Crow' in downtown London. They shared a similar need for avoiding their newly-achieved fame and felt the muggle world fit them just fine. After all, both of them lived in that world for eleven years until their arrival to Hogwarts. How long ago it seemed. Sat in front of the two laid an excellent strawberry pie and remnants of the crust stuck to the corners of Harry's lips. Hermione reached over and wiped away the mess with her napkin, who shook her head at the sight. Such a child, she thought to herself. Harry was certainly no ravenclaw. He was intelligent enough, but he lacked tact or adequate observation skills. The boy was as clueless as they come. “I hate it just as much as you do that_ _**my** _ _abuser roams freely, but besides her treatment of me, she wasn't the worst out of the bunch like we thought.” Hermione reminded, a forkful of pie passed her lips._

_Harry frowned, his hand ran through his unruly black locks. “Of course, I wasn't trying to belittle your own feelings.” Harry said as he reached over and placed his hands on top of Hermione's. “I just don't know how to move on.”_

_“Is that even possible?” Hermione laughed bitterly. She didn't truly hold venom in her words, but there was a tiredness to them. Hope drained a person as pain persisted in her experience and perhaps that led to the girl's newfound pessimistic outlook._

_The boy shrugged but offered a small smile. “I think it's worth finding out, yeah?” he asked._

Bellatrix could see the memories play out, although she did not need Legilimency to understand the emotion that flitted across Hermione's face. She did not know why those thoughts bothered her so, the mudblood was of no importance to her. On the other hand, Bellatrix could not deny that she had been _pleased_ when her mind was instantly bombarded with impure thoughts brought on by Hermione's loud thoughts. Of course she had no reason to trifle with the girl's thoughts, for she was of no use to the witch. That is what set the precedent for her beliefs. _Like scum,_ Bellatrix seethed. Still, her sadistic streak in her enjoyed seeing the girl trip over herself. The act made her look foolish, embarrassed Hermione, but that was of no matter to the d ark witch. Certain feelings lingered and betrayed their mistress, who showed no outward signs of the internal battle that rage.

Bellatrix's dancing was wild. One might be surprised at how different the same dance could be, well, _danced_. Where Andromeda was like a nervous first date, awkward in its nature but simple enough, Bellatrix moved in a frenzy. Her legs struck the ground as if she were a lioness pouncing on prey. One could consider that's what the two looked like on the floor of the manor's foyer. Her impressive heels clacked on the linoleum but that sound was drowned out by the music. The noise of the crowded room swallowed the two women completely, making any noise outside of their bubble fade completely. Nothing had ever captivated her so. Bellatrix found herself nearly hanging onto every word the girl said and her frustration grew. Her hands that held the girl slackened to an almost _polite_ grip, though it was due to Bellatrix's surprise self-admission that caught the woman off-guard. “Are you always this ditsy? You're reminding me of that other girl that was here that day, the real _loony_ one.” Bellatrix asked. She did not miss the frown that spread across Hermione's lips nor the matching dark expression that made itself known in the girl's eyes.

“You leave her out of this. Did you torture her too?” Hermione's question was asked with pure spite.

“Wouldn't you like to know? Why? Could it be that you're jealous, pet?” Bellatrix cooed. The blush that appeared on the girl's face made warmth spread through her, especially in her lower body. She much liked that feeling and could not refuse it any longer, continuing her relentless teasing. “Don't worry, she might be pure but I don't **fuck** blood-traitors.”

Hermione winced at the swear and she only rolled her eyes. _Muddy is so easy to upset, isn't she?_ Bellatrix mused to herself. “You're disgusting. I don't know why I'm helping you.” she murmured.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. The notion that the girl was taking _pity_ on the formidable witch unnerved her, enraged her! She did not need those eyes that haunted her sleep to be filled with anything other than hate. If she was honest with herself, she was hardly able to tolerate any other emotion without her indifference coming undone. “You don't have to. You could bloody well leave me alone!” she growled.

“You need me.” Hermione laughed, but it sounded hollow.

Her nails dug into the fabric of the girl's beautiful- no, horrid dress, lips curled in the most offended manner. “I don't need shit. I most certainly don't need filth like you mucking up my prison.” Bellatrix replied smoothly. The feeling that bothered Bellatrix so only grew when she saw Hermione reach her limit and she almost regretted the words as soon as she said them. It was only because of her pride that she had not. Tears gathered in the young witch's chocolate eyes and her dancing faltered as emotions ran rampant. Bellatrix was uncomfortable but she masked it well, a damning smile plastered on. The girl felt so light in her arms and it only served to add another confusing emotion to the assortment currently stored in her chest. “Ickle baby Granger upset?” she asked, her lashes fluttered as she blinked in false concern.

The music ceased. Party-goers clapped in response to the amazing ensemble, and for the dance itself as well. The young witch took that opportunity to excuse herself and Bellatrix watched her leave, a heavy feeling settled in her that grew with each step away from her. Even after Hermione's disappearance, her gaze lingered at the mudblood's exit. A waiter approached Bellatrix which took her out of her thoughts and the woman grabbed a glass of ale from his tray, with more attitude than necessary. She hissed at him and then released a cackle that whipped through the air, knocking back the drinking easily. With each drink, she wished for the uncomfortable feeling to stop.

The manor's greenhouse was a respite, an oasis in the cold winter. The scrawny figure reclined in an old rocking chair situated in an alcove of the structure. The tiny recess was hidden away by a velvet curtain the first time Hermione visited the greenhouse, but she decided to forego any sense of respect and entered it. It was large enough for a love seat and the rickety chair Hermione sat, with small end-tables on either side of the sofa. Green fabric appeared used, much more than any furniture Hermione had seen in the main house, she noted. Perhaps this was Narcissa's reading nook. What was she thinking, of course it was! There was a wooden bookshelf was pressed up against a wall to the girl's left filled with a variety of literature and Hermione sighed, her legs were already taking long strides to the shelf. “Medicinal Herbs for the Traveling Wizard-folk...fine enough on its own,” Hermione commented, her fingers skimmed the binding of the books.

“I should not be surprised,” a voiced started and Hermione shrieked, the book in her hand fell to the floor, “to see you in places you shouldn't be.” The gryffindor summoned all of her courage to face the curtain which had been drawn back by a pale hand, medium-length nails painted a neutral beige. Narcissa entered the room with a smirk, her eyes fell to the abandoned book on the ground. “I prefer my books on the shelf, which is why I brought a bookcase in here.”

Her words were teasing yet prompting, Hermione bent down and returned the book to its proper place. She took a seat on the surprisingly comfortable love seat and felt the woman settle in beside her. “I guess I should apologize. I was seeking some alone time so...” Hermione gestured to the walls around her.

“I don't blame you. I spend the better part of my day in here. I find the company of plants more desirable than people.” Narcissa agreed. “Did something happen?”

Hermione scanned her companion's gaze for any hint of, well, _something_ , but she found nothing. The blonde witch's demeanor changed and confusion was apparent on her own face. “Not really. Just people pulling me every which way.” she complained.

The laughter that came from Narcissa made Hermione smile despite herself. The whole thing really was quite that absurd! With Andromeda's sudden warning, Bellatrix's obvious refusal for her aid, why should she stay? “Because I believe in my sister and because I ask it of you, my dear.” Narcissa answered.

“Why should I do this for you?” she found herself saying before thought.

Narcissa's lips drooped into a small smile. _Merlin, her eyes!_ Hermione thought quickly. Her gaze fell to the lips once more and found them much more mischievous it its design than before. “I will be indebted to you. That would be considered a luxury to anyone else.” The woman's smirk deepened. “And besides, Andromeda is almost as stubborn as our other sister. It'll take a lot to convince her, but I have no doubt she'll be persuaded.” she said, her hand sought Hermione's. It was odd how Narcissa was such an interesting mix of so many things; her duality took on form in numerous ways like her hair, just as a physical example. She could be cold with strangers but so loving with her family. Hot and cold. In any other scenario, Hermione would have disliked that quality, but it only added to her attraction for Narcissa.

“Perhaps you're right about the deal, but I'm not so sure about the rest. Not to mention I haven't even thought it out fully! Bedding _two_ _ **sisters**_?! What would people think of me?” Hermione exclaimed, her hands flew into the air. What a sight she was! Her famous messy locks fell from her braids, but it did not take any beauty away from the girl. In her frantic state, she still managed to look gorgeous in the most haphazard way.

Narcissa snorted much to Hermione's surprise, an incredulous expression bloomed. “Please, how do you think our lines stay so pure? There are only a handful of children born each generation, only so many cousins you can marry before the blood gets too...unbalanced.” she said with a measured breath.

“And you have desire for Andromeda? For your sister?” Hermione pressed, one part of her was sick with the thought and two parts of her were admittedly fascinated with it.

A smile that felt a little too predatory for the girl's comfort was plastered on Narcissa's lips. “I do. She's a very beautiful woman, wouldn't you agree?” Narcissa asked innocently, but Hermione was right to be skeptical. “Of course you do, I saw it.” she added with a wave of her hand.

Hermione had to turn away at that! She found no more courage to face the woman. “That was private!” she whined.

“You were so _open_ with your thoughts, my dear. However, you still deserved the reprimanding regardless of how I found out.”

“Reprimanding? What are you...oh.” Hermione mumbled, the recollection of the events in the study sprung forth in her mind. That same desire then grew in her now, her thighs squeezed together and was growing to be unbearable.

Hands inched up Hermione's legs but stilled once they reached mid-thigh, and then Narcissa's fingers massaged the smooth skin they found there. “We could continue what we started...” the older woman trailed off.

How could the girl possibly deny her this? Hermione knew she shouldn't, but the thrill of it made the lips that were suddenly on hers taste that much sweeter. She was being reckless, but so were Narcissa's hands that claimed more and more territory of her body. Hermione could always refuse the woman later, after all. Her thoughts were pushed away when she felt a tongue tentatively prod at her mouth which she eagerly allowed, her own wrestling with Narcissa's. The young witch's head sit the cushioned armrest as Narcissa straddled her. Her lover's hands gripped her face but they disappeared, and Hermione had no clue as to where until she felt several layers of the woman's dress vanish. A flick of Narcissa's wand left the main gown intact and without the many layers, the dress fit rather well, so well that Hermione's eyes drifted and rested on the woman's breasts.

“You can touch me, Hermione.” Narcissa whispered, then pressed tender kisses to the girl's neck.

Oh, she _wanted_ to, but prior to Narcissa and Andromeda she was hardly experienced. She did some light groping during her previous years at Hogwarts but it paled in comparison to what she was doing at that moment. Besides, she was the one being touched half the time. As Hermione became lost in thought, Narcissa grew impatient. She grabbed the girl's hands and placed them on her breasts, then continued her assault on her mouth. If her panties weren't wet before, it would be impossible for them to be dry after the woman pressed herself against Hermione. When she was unable to hold back a moan, it only spurred the woman to thrust and grind against her at a quicker pace. Her eyes watched her lover, her ears listened to the soft, feminine grunts that she released. She was absolutely _feral_ and Hermione loved it, encouraged it by kneading the woman's soft breasts in her hands.

“You are so tempting, my little doe.” Narcissa whispered.

Hermione couldn't concentrate with the woman's mouth on her earlobe. “How?” she asked sheepishly.

Narcissa laughed as one of her hands reached towards Hermione's lower abdomen. It rested just a few inches above of where her burning desire stirred, and its presence was nothing but a teasing one. “How?” Narcissa repeated, she acted as though she was offended by the question. “You are so sensitive. Knowing that makes it all the more fun to play with you.” The blonde witch broke away from Hermione and moved down on her. She watched as the woman slowly lifted dress and couldn't help but whimper at the look Narcissa gave her.

Only then did she realize their position. Narcissa had put Hermione on display and was blissfully drinking in the sight. Fingers teased the waistband of pink panties and Narcissa sighed, looking more relaxed than the girl had ever seen her. “I've never...” Hermione trailed off.

“Though it's growing incredibly hard to restrain myself, I won't take you tonight...but that does not mean I do not intend to do so later.” Narcissa muttered. _That pout!_ Hermione felt a rush of affection for the woman when she observed her bottom lip jutting out and her put-out expression.

Hermione placed her hands on Narcissa's forearms. “Thank you...for respecting me.” she murmured. The woman only smiled and kissed Hermione with such care that one might think the girl was fragile. Narcissa cupped her sex and pressed her palm to the girl's clit, pulling a moan from her. She was embarrassed as her hips moved to their own accord, and she knew Narcissa felt _her_.

“Of course.” Narcissa replied smugly. The woman's eyes were focused on the damp panties against her hand. “My, my! All for me?” she asked.

It was torture to be touched like that. That skillful hand that rubbed her was all she needed, though the thought of Narcissa's fingers made her walls clench around nothing. “Please,” Hermione begged, “please, Narcissa.”

“Say it again.”

“Wh-what?”

“Say my name.”

“Narcissa.” Hermione breathed. The woman decided she wanted more precision in her movements and placed the tips of her fingers against Hermione's sensitive clit through the cloth, then rubbed in fast circles. Her hips bucked against Narcissa, but she held the girl in place with her other hand.

“Again.”

Hermione released a string of moans, panting as her climax rapidly approached. “Narcissa.” she managed.

Determination oozed from the woman and Hermione immediately surrendered. Truth be told, she had been conquered as soon as Narcissa had found her alone in the alcove. “Louder.” she commanded.

“....Cissa!” Hermione cried as she clawed at alabaster skin. Her legs trembled as the woman drove her to orgasm, the name on her lips were quickly swallowed by her raw vocalization.

Neither woman said a word as they sat apart, both brows were covered in sweat- salty evidence of their sins. Hermione struggled to catch her breath, but she could not find it in herself to care. Her chest rose and fell at a rate much like the spray of bullets from a machine gun. Narcissa's tongue darted across her lips and Hermione blushed. Not because of the action itself, but what _caused_ it. The woman was staring at Hermione's mess! She bit back a groan and wondered whether she'll ever catch Narcissa in a moment of embarrassment. Her lover laughed and Hermione narrowed her eyes, but still no words were spoken. Narcissa performed a cleaning spell on the girl (much to her shock and ridicule) and busied herself with her own body. In just under a minute, Narcissa showed no sign of their activities except for that satisfied smirk that lied on her smug face. Hermione scoffed and stood with the woman, flattening her skirt down. Her legs started to shake like a newborn fawn and it humored her companion to no end. “Do I amuse you?” Hermione said, then rolled her eyes at the immediate nod she received.

“I haven't had a good laugh in a long time.” Narcissa murmured. The gleam in her eyes did not fade though, and Hermione found herself wanting to keep that look on the woman for as long as she possibly could.

“Well, I suppose I'm glad to help you in any way I can.”

They parted ways when they returned to the manor, but Narcissa made sure to give her one last kiss before she left. At some point during the night, snow begun to come in flurries. The two witches had been gone so long that party-goers had already started to filter out. Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen and Ginny was talking with...no. Hermione spun on her heel and darted from the foyer, her heels softly clacked against the tile floor. When she entered the dining room, she found it mostly empty except for a few stragglers that wanted to take home some of the goods. Pinky was reaching her tiny arms over the edge of a catering table, another house-elf beside her held a wicker basket. “You both should try some of the cupcakes. I bet you'll love the frosting.” Hermione commented. Pinky squeaked and nearly fell over herself, but luckily the other elf was able to catch her fall.

“Mistress Black allows the elves of the manor to have many left-overs when there are parties! Pinky would never steal!” The house-elf was immediately on the defensive.

Hermione held up a placating hand, then shook her head with a laugh. “Of course not! You're an honest elf, right?” she asked, a smile at her lips. It almost made her burst out with laughter when she observed the speed Pinky nodded her head. Draco and Luna were surprisingly engaged in conversation as the two strolled into the room that Hermione occupied. “I hope you all have a feast! And trust me on the cupcakes.” Hermione said as she took her leave. She crossed the room to greet the two and it was such a foreign feeling to see the Malfoy heir face her with a smile. His smile matched his mother's. “Good evening, Luna, Draco. Unfortunately, it seems I've missed the climax of the party.” Hermione commented. _Because I was too busy having my own._

Luna grinned. “Oh no! You didn't see Ron's...” Luna trailed off, and Hermione was sure the girl was trying to put a name to the the event, “fiasco. Ginny is quite the mischievous one, isn't she?”

“Ronald Weasley is a buffoon. It is entirely his fault that Aunt Andy hexed him.”

“What?” Hermione asked, stood shocked. Why would Andromeda hex the boy?

The ravenclaw tapped her chin and gasped, recalling what she needed to. “Ms. Black warned him.”

“Hell of a warning if you ask me.” Draco replied dryly.

“I do believe she was growing upset over his comments about Hermione?” Luna murmured, the question asked for confirmation.

“What? What about me?”

Draco crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Where have you been all night?” he asked. He did not miss the blush that spread over the girl's face, but did not push. “Never mind that. Anyways, the damn fool drunk a bit too much Ogre's Brew and he wasn't shy about throwing comments about his plan to pursue you.” The blonde boy lifted his drink and took a measured sip, his lip curled into a smile.

“Gods, I thought Ron and I were past that.” Hermione sighed, then rubbed her brow. Surely she could go a long period of time without drama as ridiculous as this stressing her out, but it seemed that day was not today. She had almost forgotten that he mentioned _Andromeda_ hexed him. “So she hexed him over that?”

“Much to our gratitude! The prat was almost weepy at one point and then grew angry when Auntie stood up for you.” Draco said.

Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?” 

Luna sighed and placed a hand atop Hermione's. It was a gesture meant to be comforting, but instead she felt her stomach turn. “He doesn't understand that you will never be his. You're already destined for...someone else.”

Worried eyes flickered to Draco and then returned to Luna. Something unsettled Hermione about the way the girl seemingly _knew too much_ , even more than herself and for Christ's sake, she was the one involved! “And who might that be?” Hermione ventured.

Ravenclaw was lucky to have the daydreamer, for she was far more intelligent than anyone Hermione had ever met, albeit in a different way. “Andromeda, of course.” Luna chirped.

Draco laughed, but then his face turned into a grimace. “I fear you are right, dear cousin. I've never seen my aunt act that way. You must be some witch.” he said.

It annoyed Hermione to no end that his smirk looked like his mother's too! Hermione only rolled her eyes and the topic was abandoned with the mention of Luna's progress within the Ministry of Magic. She was an apprentice to the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, or 'DRCMC' for short. The trio made small talk until they were the only ones left in the room and decided to exit to the foyer. Draco and Hermione walked the girl to the main entrance, the latter of the two pulling her in for a tight embrace. “Be strong, Hermione.” Luna whispered. When the confused brunette pulled back, Luna was already out the door, a goodbye at her lips directed towards Draco. The room was quiet and empty, but the light feeling persisted. All in all, it wasn't an unpleasant night. No, the real work would be Bellatrix's memory review. _But the mad woman doesn't want me there,_ she thought.

“Shall I walk you to your room?”

“Please.”

Standing at a door had never felt so frightening before. Draco had dropped Hermione off to her room and she had stripped herself of her ballgown and traded it for the new sweater she got from Molly. She hoped it would comfort her, but as she stood at the closed door the girl did not receive much from it. Her hand lifted and stilled. _Maybe I should turn back..._ Hermione thought, but she shook her head. With a deep breath, she rapped her knuckles against the door. The scraping of a chair against hardwood floor sounded throughout the room and spilled over into the hallway. Rapid pacing grew louder and suddenly, the door was pulled back, revealing Bellatrix halfway out of her evening gown. It appeared the woman wore a slip of some sore under the clothing, notably used for restricted weight and giving more of a curve. _Not that she'd need it_. Heat rushed to her face and she forced herself to look into those haunting, hateful eyes. “Well, well, if it isn't the mud-baby.” Bellatrix greeted, her trademark smirk already irritating the poor girl.

“Let's get this over with.” Hermione sighed, her eyes dropped to the floor.

“Ah ah! Look at me when I'm talking to you.” Bellatrix's voice rang out in a singsong tone, but there was a bitterness to it. The woman's hand gripped her jaw and forced her to look up at the woman. “That's much better,” she paused, then her eyes skimmed Hermione's face, “I didn't think you were still going to come. You were a fool to.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and in an instant her wand was in her hand. “I do not have time to play games, Black. Either you will accept my help or you will waste away in this building.” she spat.

“Fine, fine!” Bellatrix said with a wave, a fake pout covered her features. “You're certainly no fun tonight, and to think you were paired with such an excellent dancer.” Bellatrix mumbled, spinning on her heel.

The room wasn't anything like Hermione expected. Well, perhaps in some ways. It was still styled as one might expect a dark witch would, but books littered her room, hand-written journals filled an entire bookcase on its own. It was evident the woman spent a lot of time in here. For some reason, that filled Hermione with pity. She still doubted her choice to help the lunatic, but that feeling made it easier. Bellatrix's room was large and Hermione could see a bathroom was attached. A black canopy draped over the woman's four-poster king-sized bed, another sign of luxury. What stood out to Hermione the most was the art that hung on the walls. The paintings were still, which wasn't so common in the wizarding world, and they depicted landscapes of many varieties. One looked much like the Scottish Highlands, where Hogwarts was situated on.

“Do you like my room, Muddy?” Bellatrix asked, her eyes never left Hermione's reproachful figure.

“Not what I expected, but it's not bad. I dare say it would even suit my tastes in its current state.” Hermione replied, her feet shuffled awkwardly. It was hard not to squirm under the woman's gaze. “So you've changed your mind about me helping you?”

Bellatrix hummed in response and held her hands behind her back as she strolled over to the window. Snow hit the window and stuck to it like wet cement, and Hermione was only glad she was inside rather than out. “I have grown tired of these walls.”

Did she really expect to placate the girl with that answer? Hermione scoffed and looked away from the woman. “Go on.” she pushed.

“Don't test me, you little troll.” Bellatrix hissed, then advanced on Hermione in an instant. “My reasons are that- _mine_. I don't answer to you, girl.”

This was already wearing her patience thin. The expectations were very different from the outcome, and she was already starting to regret her decision. A sound captured Hermione's attention and she turned to see a small circular bowl float through the air. It was black with carved runes engraved on the side, and it was empty. A strange feeling overtook her, some sort of excitement rose. After all, Bellatrix Black was an enigma. No book could ever tell the girl of the woman's past. No, that information would have to come straight from the source. Learning about the woman was a guilt pleasure of hers. When the former Death Eater broke out of Azkaban, Hermione still kept her mugshot. She never knew why, but she couldn't part with it. Perhaps she just had a strange infatuation with the woman, some sort of Stockholm syndrome scenario. She did not know it yet, but as Bellatrix pulled a memory and placed it into the pensieve, that events from that night would seal her fate for good. The older witch looked solemn and Hermione had a second to guess why before Bellatrix shoved her head towards the bowl, the two apparating away into her memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to leave it on such a cliffhanger but it was getting to be 17 pages long! It seemed like the right place to stop. hope you enjoyed! :)


	8. Different Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first memory review.

Hogwarts had never seen such a skilled chaser before, but that role for the Slytherin quidditch team was always filled by talented players anyways. Depending on one's definition of talented, anyways. Slytherin chasers were always cunning, always planning a few steps ahead of them. The same was true for the current seeker. Curls black as night stuck to the chaser's brow as she teetered on the newest broomstick of the summer, droplets of the falling rain ran down her face. The girl did not even have to ask her father for it. In fact, Cygnus Black III returned home one day with it under his arm though no words were said when he offered it to a young Bellatrix. The two witches stood in the slytherin post, their eyes followed the game carefully. Hermione knew where they were, but the three-hooped goal posts glistened with newness. She wondered when they were installed, when Quidditch was founded. The gryffindor had little patience for her flying lessons during her first-year and admittedly, the history was lost on her. The Bellatrix Hermione knew as her own (her time's Bellatrix, she corrected) was silent, her eyes trained on her younger form. The ravenclaw team took the lead when the quaffle soared past the keeper and through one of the hoops, the crowd around them jeered in displeasure. “They're bringing down the bloody team! I have half a mind to take that stick to his head!” One deep male voice roared.

“It's not Lestrange's fault. Rosier's a quick one.”

Hermione's eyes darted across the field where two slytherin beaters were in a screaming match, though the argument was inaudible to the fans that sat thirty feet below them. The young Rodolphus Lestrange had dark brown hair that was tied back into a simple ponytail, his green robes stained with mud and small splatters of blood. The boy was bleeding somewhere on his leg and for a moment, Hermione felt a certain sympathy for him. From her eavesdropping, she identified the two loud voices that came from the other end of the bench as his parents, Marianne and Rutherford Lestrange. They did not have kind faces. Wrinkles were deeply etched into the man's face, his lip curled into a scowl. It made her think about her own parents who had never looked at their own daughter with those faces, and how the Lestrange couple might act behind doors if they were this bold to act such a way in public.

“He saw his fair share of beatings.” Bellatrix said, boredom in her tone.

“I shouldn't have to tell you parents should not beat their children.” Hermione muttered.

She could see the clench of an angular jaw from her peripheral. “Some children need more help than others.”

Hermione distanced herself from the horrid woman and prayed for the will to remember why she was here in the first place. The reason remained lost to her. “You think raising a hand to your child is helping them?” she asked, her face glowered. The woman's flippant attitude only added to her irritation.

“It worked for me.” was the simple reply.

“Right, look how you turned out to be.”

“ **Excuse me?** ”

The Black sister's hot gaze was already burning a hole through Hermione when she found the courage to face her. She sat rigid beside the girl who noticed muscles flexing beneath a ghostly-pale neck, anger fueling their repeated movements. Shivers ran down her spine and she could not believe the effect someone could have on another, how utterly powerless one could feel by a simple stare. “A blood supremacist that tortured people, right-hand to the wizarding world's Hitler? Not exactly how I'd raise my child.” Hermione said, and couldn't help but laugh at the quick disappearance of the woman's anger that was replaced with confusion.

“Who is Hitler?” Bellatrix asked.

Hermione gaped at her. “Surely you're joking! There must be Jewish wizards. It's too big of an event for magic-folk to not know of its existence.”

The older witch squinted at her, slight recognition gleamed in those dark eyes. “I remember my father talking to an associate of his about a fascist muggle movement that started around 1939, but none of that mattered to him therefore it did not matter to me. Let the filth rid itself I say, then proper witches and wizards won't be forced to hide.” Bellatrix murmured, slight anger came out at the end of her statement.

“You can't wish extinction on innocent human beings, that's cruel!” Hermione shot back.

Bellatrix's lips curled into a sneer, her fists clenched in her lap. “Innocent? The sins of the the fall onto the son, you stupid girl. They hunted my ancestors for being _gifted,_ for being more than the similarities they shared with their inferior cousins!” The woman stood then, her body appeared to be shaking. “You are a product of your filth and the only thing redeemable about you is the _precious_ magic that they've stolen!”

Breathing never felt so difficult before, almost as if there were bricks stacked on Hermione's chest. An apt analogy given that she felt so crushed. _I should leave,_ she briefly thought. Narcissa Black was the only thing keeping her tethered to the memory. “I have never stolen from you!” the girl seethed. “My parents have never stolen from you! Your illusions about the magical potency of someone's heritage is outdated. Your Lord was a half-blood himself! Such hypocritical beliefs.”

Hands were gripping her arms, nails dug in a tad too far for Hermione's comfort. She just _had_ to antagonize the witch but even so, her words were true. Bellatrix leaned over and pushed the girl back, who landed on the bench behind them. Gravity forced Hermione's body to sag between the gap of the benches and Bellatrix was the only thing holding her up. “You have not earned the privilege to speak of him. You are here at my behest, so do not insult me by insulting my Lord.” Bellatrix snapped, her words sent shivers down her spine. The woman dropped Hermione and returned to her seat, her head returning to the match.

Hermione fell rather hard on her shoulder and she hissed, feelings of dread crept up her neck. She sat there for a moment and grimaced as the memory's projection of a slytherin student stretched around her. Despite it being equivalent to a hologram, it still sickened the girl. Hermione pulled herself up and rubbed her shoulder, glaring at the woman before finding her younger twin out on the field. Young Bellatrix flew past their stand and for a second, it almost appeared as she had locked eyes with the girl. Everything slowed for what seemed forever, the eye contact lasted so painstakingly long. What bothered her the most was how _alive_ the younger version of Bellatrix looked. Even in the second-long stare, Hermione saw confidence, passion, and were she true to herself, the girl looked beautiful as well. Her body wasn't yet battered from the years she'd spend in Azkaban. It was lean with muscle and as she watched that Bellatrix fly past, Hermione's eyes observed her thighs and somewhat wished she were the broomstick. The thought nearly made her double over with sick, her stomach felt fickle. “Why are we even here? Your quidditch record won't sway a jury.”

The girl felt smug when she saw a twitch of the vaguest of smiles from the woman's lips. When Bellatrix faced her, she was suddenly unreadable. “During my last year at Hogwarts, I was well under the tutelage of the Dark Lord. However, my allegiance to him was sealed at this game.” Bellatrix said. Hermione searched the woman for any emotion, but she was surprised to see nothing. Wouldn't the woman be a bit more cheerful at the notion?

“Well? Are you going to explain why?” Hermione sighed.

Erupting in cheer, the fans around the witches jostled each other in a fashion as to how one might feel in a mosh-pit. Bellatrix held a neutral expression as her attention drifted to the far back corner of the stand. Hermione's eyes followed her trail and did not know who she was staring at, for only Harry had seen a younger version of the man. “The Dark Lord quite enjoyed attending my games after my father introduced me to him. He did not care for the sport, but he enjoyed my _spirit_.” she smirked, then returned to a blank state. “It was also my seventeenth birthday.”

Hermione's eyes tried but failed to avoid looking at the woman's covered arm where she knew the Dark Mark hid. “So you became a Death Eater?” Hermione confirmed.

“Little Muddy is paying attention!” Bellatrix giggled, but it sounded strange coming from the woman. It sounded manic and damaging. “Yes and no. Not only did I join the ranks of the Dark Lord, but he gave me my first task.”

Like wisps of a fog, the scenery around them shifted and Hermione felt the drastic change affected her much like seasickness. The witches stood in the only exit of a small sitting room, a round table in the middle with ornate chairs. Two windows were covered by black curtains and Hermione smelled soot from the extinguished fireplace that was built into the wall to the right of her. A group of young witches and wizards sat at the table with an aging Tom Riddle. She thought him to be around his early to mid-forties, unsettling eyes that seemed to _know_ everything. Even her Bellatrix stiffened at the sight of him and it made Hermione uncomfortable. She looked at the faces around the table and tried to come up with name for them. The Lestrange brothers, Regulus and Bellatrix Black, two female faces she couldn't figure out, and although it wasn't the biggest shock, Peter Pettigrew sat among them. Oh, how she _loathed_ the sniveling rat. Bellatrix cleared her throat which drew her attention. The table was unbearably quiet.

“My dear, Bella, how you've grown!” Tom announced, his hands clapped alone until a few of the members joined him begrudgingly. “Allow me to be the first to congratulate you! It's certainly going to best day of your life so far.” This version of the horrible man was charming, more human than Hermione could have ever felt possible. For a moment, she pitied Harry who knew the snake more intimately than anyone. If she had thought about it any longer, perhaps Bellatrix would know too.

“You're most gracious, my lord.” Young Bellatrix chimed. To see how enamored Young Bellatrix was with that man disgusted Hermione. When had he planted his seed?

Tom waved her words off, unbothered. “You have yet to fail me, young one. You are most deserving of my praise.” The man stood and pulled back a curtain, his brown eyes turned golden when sunlight hit them. “You will receive your mark upon completion of your task tonight. Rodolphus and the Rosier boy will accompany you.” He stated. It would futile if any of the name party wanted to refuse his order.

“May I ask what the task is, sir?” the girl asked.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw present Bellatrix's brow furrow, her face looked pale. As if the woman _could_ get paler, that is. Her attention returned to the giant smile the man had on his face. Tom looked like a cat that caught a rather pretty canary. “I thought you'd never ask.” Tom murmured as he withdrew a folded packet of notes from the inside of his jacket pocket. “The first task is created as a test of loyalty, of commitment, and a show of skill. There have been rumors...” he trailed off, distracted for the briefest second before scowling, “that the tide will be turning in our favor soon. This is true. However, we still have one last chance to solidify our political statement, the very thing that we believe in. You will arrive at the little wizarding town of Mugspart. Rodolphus has scouted ahead for us and has ensured me there will mild risk, though nothing you could not handle.”

“What are we to do there?”

“Why, I want you to kill as many impures as you can before the Ministry shows. I expect you'll have twenty minutes.” Tom smiled.

“...At your command, my lord.”

The acceptance shocked Hermione, but something else did too. The young Bellatrix did _not_ appear to enjoy her task as much as the gryffindor might have thought. Once the meeting was over, the memories spit the witches out onto a field, a setting sun glowed in the distance. Rodolphus, Evan Rosier, and Bellatrix were walking on a dirt road, making idle chat. The Rosier boy had blonde hair and he was dressed in plain black robes. In fact, they all wore the same gear. At this point in Voldemort's rise to power, he still needed to move in secrecy, until he gathered enough supporters. Hermione walked beside the young version of her torturer and she couldn't help but noticed faint lines on the girl's hands, though they were much more apparent on her more so than her older self. “I'm not sure about this.” The young witch murmured, a flash of shame appeared on her face for even admitting doubt.

“Don't worry, we've got your back! We're not going to let anything happen to you.” Rodolphus grinned, his arm hung around her shoulders in a possessive fashion.

It didn't seem that Bellatrix approved of it, if the split-second reaction of a scowl said anything before returning to a neutral mask. “Surely there is another way to make a statement! I did not know our Lord would have us doing...this.” was the girl's measured reply.

They were getting closer and dread filled Hermione with each step. Was she ready to watch innocents die? She already had and their faces haunted her nightmares. The girl did not have time to decide before they were already on the hamlet. The older Bellatrix seemed like she was on auto-pilot and she did not understand how the woman could watch with such detachment. Hermione also could not understand the change between the beautiful, promising young witch in front of her, and the still beautiful yet deranged woman in front of her. This girl did not seem like she'd be able to cast an Unforgivable curse. “You cannot fail. If you do, our Lord will be most displeased.” Evan said, a sympathetic smile sent Bellatrix's way.

The trio (along with present-day Bellatrix and Hermione) hunched behind a trimmed hedge, their eyes flickered from house to house. “I spent the better part of my summer gathering information for this, Black. You owe me a date after this.” Rodolphus winked, pulling out a map. The parchment had a child-like drawn layout of the village. He explained that houses marked with 'M' were for the 'mudbloods' and which places to avoid. They would want to make a big scene with the first kill and then go on a spree to the nearby houses. Hermione did not miss the way young Bellatrix flinched at the slur.

They followed the students to the quiet town made up of stone-brick buildings with clay roofs, the shoes squelched in the mud was rain started to drizzle. Once they reached a small alleyway, Rodolphus handed Bellatrix the map. “Here, you'll need this. I've got it memorized so once we light the fuse on this keg, I'll start towards the south-end of the village with Evan.”

Bellatrix said nothing though Hermione could see the apprehension in those coal eyes, the trembling in the hand that accepted the map. Evan murmured a Quietus charm that muffled their movement up the steps of an outside staircase attached to a two-story home. Rodolphus unlocked the door with a flick of his wand and entered without so much as a sound. The young Bella stood unmoved before Evan pushed her in. The house was a little bare, but it felt like a home. Hermione recognized an old television set and various muggle literature, many that were first edition classics. Anxiety bubbled in her. She already decided she would watch whatever mayhem had occurred. For the victims and for her to assess whether or not Bellatrix did truly deserve her freedom.

Her first reaction would be yes, and how could it not? The poor slytherin girl looked on the verge of passing out, but neither boy noticed because she lingered to the back once they entered the bedroom. A couple were sound asleep in the bed and in between them laid what she hoped was a lump of blankets. Hermione's heart quickened. The Bellatrix she knew still showed no signs of _anything_! It frustrated her. Her mind screamed at the woman to feel something, but her lips remained in a straight line and her eyes were focused. The only thing Hermione noticed was the woman's hands gripping her own skirt. She looked to the young witch and could have laughed as she mirrored her older version's pose if it would not have been so dreadfully inappropriate to do so.

“Wake up, you filth!” Evan roared, his arm whipped above him and cast a spell that lit up the room with blinding light. The couple screamed and sat up in bed, the husband's body moved in front of his wife's.

Two frightened faces met the group and Hermione was relieved to hear no crying. It wasn't that bad, not yet. “What are you children doing here?” The man yelled, his wand pointed to the shaggy-haired boy.

“We're doing some volunteer work! Cleaning up the trash, ha!” Rodolphus laughed as he nudged Evan's elbow.

“You have ten seconds to get out of my house!”

Rodolphus smiled. “Oh, you'll be dead before ten.” His arm was raised as he looked to Bellatrix and mouthed 'now'. But nothing happened and Bellatrix had only drawn her wand, her tight grip almost bent the wood. Her future husband looked at her with surprise. “Bella?”

The girl shook her head quickly and her arm fell. “I can't.” she choked, though one could mistake it for a cry.

Rodolphus rushed to her side and gripped her jaw, his mouth level with her ear. “You don't have a choice.” He growled, but the message wasn't hostile. It was desperate.

The other boy did not take her actions kindly. “Do it, you wretched girl!”

“No! No, I won't do it!” Bellatrix refused, backing away from the boys with her wand drawn in a direction between the two.

“Bella.” Rodolphus begged, his confident demeanor faltered as he glanced to Evan.

“No.”

A flash of light shot by the group that came from the man's wand and Hermione could see the wife joined him, her own wand aimed at Evan. The boys sprang into action and they shot hex after hex, then chased the couple out of the room. Bellatrix was temporarily forgotten by her companions and she frantically looked for a way out. Hermione did not have not have any skill in Legilimency, but she could see the internal struggle, one that was broken by the sound of a crying child. The young Bellatrix cautiously approached the blanket lump and drew it back, exposing a bundled infant. The girl faltered and Hermione saw the unmistakable emotion of fear. Hermione watched with a growing sickness as the girl held the child and tried to soothe it, her eyes snapping shut at the sound of a bloodcurdling scream from below. The slytherin cast a spell on the child, immediately quieting its wailing, and pulled the blanket back over the child. The boys returned blood-spattered and with their wands pushed into the neck of the husband. The man was lost in hysterics as snot dripped from his nose and mixed with salty tears that refused to cease.

“You have failed him.” Evan murmured. Then the movement of cloth drawn back by a hand caught Hermione's eye. Apparently Rodolphus' too because he yelled at the boy, but he was too late. The Dark Mark on the boy's forearm was dark, the strength from it could be felt around the room. As Evan's fingers skimmed over the tattoo, it was only a few moments before its use became fruitful, their lord appearing in his full glory. Hermione gulped, shaking even though she knew the man to be dead. It seemed some things do not die with death.

“Why was I summoned, young Rosier?” Tom Riddle asked, and with him this time was his reptilian familiar Nagini.

Evan stood straight and pointed to the young Bellatrix. “She is refusing to carry out your orders, my Lord.”

“You killed my wife, you hellish bastards!” The man cried as he shrugged the boys off, lunging towards their master.

The Dark Lord flicked his wand without a word and the man was brought to his knees, his lungs constricted. His attempt to speak was only in folly because in the next moment, a silent caused the man to seizure. Foam dripped from his mouth as he fell to the floor, his body moved in sporadic jerks. Hermione tried to look away but a strong, though not harmful grip on her arm willed her to stay. She did not have to look to know it was Bellatrix's hand on her. “Ms. Black, is this true?” Disappointment and a quiet anger could be hear in the dark wizard's voice and Hermione wanted nothing more than to jump to the girl's aid.

“Y-yes, my Lord. I cannot cast an Unforgivable if I do not mean it. I cannot kill another person.” Bellatrix confessed, then immediately bowed her head in shame.

Tom's face matched his words, his eyes ignited with irritation. “If you do not do this for me, you are betraying me.”

“No!” Bellatrix said quickly, her eyes darted to her companions before their humble return to her master's. “No, sir! I have not failed you yet, remember? Perhaps I can serve in other ways? My father mentioned you needed recruiters for eastern Europe.” Bellatrix offered.

The suggestion only served to enrage the man. “I have given you very specific instructions.” He stated coldly.

Young Bellatrix closed her eyes to accept her fate. “I can't.” she croaked.

Only a sigh could be exhaled with such a presence, such a sting of disappointment meant for its recipient. “You are weak now, but I will make you strong.”

Everything that happened next occurred in a flurry, Voldemort bore through young Bellatrix and she fell to her knees. Her screams were nonsensical, but Hermione made out the words “my head” and she was reminded of the shrill screaming that pierced the students' ears at the Battle of Hogwarts. Then the man commanded her to rise and so she did. It was clear that he had penetrated the girl's mind and cast _Imperio,_ the man turned his attention to the bed and revealed the infant and disenchanting the charm Bellatrix given it. Hermione saw _her_ Bellatrix start to shake at the same time her younger self did, the identical coal eyes watched as he levitated the infant to the edge of the bed.

“Kill the child.”

The command made the girl raise her arm, but she faltered. The girl's head twitched to the side as she struggled to fight the curse, her arm shook furiously. Her mouth remained shut but she was trying to vocalize something, attempting to organize the grunts and desperate whimpers into intelligible words. “Please...no...” she managed. It was eerie hearing such a plea from a placid face, but tears started to fall and it betrayed the mask of indifference found there.

“Now.” Still, the wand in her hand faltered and the man came undone, his screams grated harshly on the ears that listened. He only demanded the action one more time before his possession worked, green light shooting from the tip of her wand.

Hermione took a pale, clenched fist in her hands and chose to look to her Bellatrix at the last second, unable to keep the promise she made to herself. Gryffindor courage only extended so far, after all. The fist relaxed and she did not know what prompted her to wrap her arms around the older witch, her eyes shut as she hid her face into the woman's hair. They were pulled from the memories and spat out on the hardwood floor of Bellatrix's bedroom. She clung to the woman and she tried so hard not to retch as her mind replayed the murder scene. Hearing Bellatrix's deep breathing had an odd, but welcomed soothing effect on her. Hermione did not want to move, she did not want to disturb this embrace. It was the closest thing to tolerance the woman had ever shown to her. However, moments do not last forever and Bellatrix slowly pulled away as if she too regret the decision to remove herself from the comfort. Hermione had not noticed the tears on her face and she was half-tempted to pull the woman back, if not to comfort herself then Bellatrix. The image of light leaving coal eyes, the destruction of innocence in what should have been a regular birthday for the Black child would _never_ leave her mind, this much she knew. “Bellatrix-” Hermione started.

“Don't. Please.” Bellatrix murmured. Her back faced the girl and her shoulders sagged until she somehow pieced herself back together. “That's enough for tonight.”

“Bellatrix, we need to talk about this.”

The woman turned around and she looked frighteningly similar to her Imperio'd self in her memory. Though there was no emotion there, redness still rimmed her eyes. “Leave now, you foul mudblood! If you stay a second more, I'll return that scar to your pretty skin!” the woman shrieked. She did not need to hear more. Hermione ran out of the room and her legs did not stop nor slow their sprint until she at her room.

Once she was in, she locked the door behind her and sagged to the ground. Sobs fell from her lips in dramatic expulsions and her arms pulled her knees to her chest. The only thing that broke the girl from her crying spell was the knock at her door. She stood and wiped away all the remnants of her grief, though her eyes were still puffy. The golden doorknob turned in her hand and she pulled it back, greeting a concerned Andromeda. The older witch had traded her evening dress for a solid black night gown, covered by a sheer robe that showed the woman's skin through translucent fabric. Hermione had no more fight in her and she crumpled at the sight of yet another contributing factor of her pain. She allowed her companion to enter and watched as she closed the door behind her before she faced the girl. Andromeda said nothing as she took Hermione into her arms. When she started to cry, Andromeda muffled the room with a spell and guided her to the bed.

In any other situation, shushing annoyed the girl. Throughout all of her years at Hogwarts, Hermione received her fair share of students politely (though not so uncommon impolitely) asking her to cease with her rantings _especially_ when she started S.P.E.W. She supposed it depended on the situation because she found Andromeda's hushing and cooing to be quite comforting. The witches laid parallel to each other, the older witch's arm cradling her young love with the utmost care. Hermione calmed after a while spent in that embrace, her breathing returned to normal and she opened her eyes for the first time. She still felt sick and did not suppose it would go away so easily since Andromeda was a spitting image of her older sister, and Bellatrix was the cause of her current state, was she not? The girl begged her mind to ease up on her and it did, though mostly because her bed-mate started to caress her hair.

Andromeda caught her staring and smiled, though it looked sad. “What's wrong, my love?” she asked, then scooped Hermione's hand into hers and pressed a kiss to the top of it. Tension eased in her rigid muscles at the gesture, but her lip quivered. _Where do I start?_

“Bellatrix asked me to start our agreement after the party tonight and-”

“She what?” Andromeda asked furiously. “And you did not inform anyone?”

Hermione paused and tilted her head down in shame. “I didn't think to. I figured only Bellatrix and I were involved in the actual work.” she murmured.

The older witch sighed and cupped Hermione's jaw, her thumb brushed over her reddened cheeks. “That was reckless, Hermione. From now on, your sessions will be monitored until a modicum of trust has been made.” Andromeda reprimanded, but Hermione could hardly feel its intent and instead focused on the woman's touch.

“I know, I'm sorry.” Hermione whispered, her voice cracked.

Andromeda shushed her and drew her closer, her forehead rested against the girl's. “We will talk about it more in depth later. Right now, I want you to tell me what happened.” Andromeda said.

She blushed at the kisses the woman pressed to her head and it made her feel strong enough to recount to her what had transpired. Hermione explained her frustration with how Bellatrix acted and how she did not understand why the slytherin joined Voldemort's cause when she wasn't fit to. In fact, if the man had not used the Unforgivable on her, perhaps the present-day Bellatrix would be very different. She hesitated to tell Andromeda about the task, but she decided to. After minutes of her retelling, Hermione learned that Andromeda had known about the task because Bellatrix eventually told her- that is, before Andromeda eloped with Ted Tonks. “She refused...Andy, she wasn't going to hurt them and he made her.” Hermione whispered, her heart splintered a bit more. Oh, how it became a pincushion to every tear that fell from the young Bellatrix. Her reaction was more than just empathy, but she could not begin to describe how she felt. So many feelings twisted in her and she was not anywhere close to deciphering them.

“I chose to leave this life behind me, but these old wounds have festered for far too long. You understand now and how she was. To see even a fraction of the sister I knew in my youth...I've never stopped loving that girl.” Andromeda said, but it sounded like a confession, like a long-held secret that she was finally happy to share with someone. “That version of her is the reason my hand still wavers when it is aimed at her now. Sometimes I catch glimpses...”

Hermione listened with rapt attention, thoughts already overwhelming her by their multitude. She wanted to absorb as much information about the oldest sister as she could and perhaps to use that in her time with Bellatrix. “Something strange happened too, but it's probably unimportant.” Hermione dismissed.

“Go on.” Andromeda prompted.

She struggled for a moment, the right phrasing lost to her. Hermione recalled the stoic young face, tears that spoke when her expression could not, the garbled words that pleaded Voldemort to spare the life, the _filth_ she was ordered to do away with. That girl deserved better. “When we were watching...what happened in the bedroom,” Hermione swallowed, “Bellatrix started to react. I can't explain it, but it was like they were in sync. Like she was reliving it.” she explained.

“Trauma is underestimated. I know you're not fairing well from what happened at Hogwarts.” Andromeda murmured, and Hermione did not miss the way she said it. She had that same tone when she wanted to talk about something important, but she would _gladly_ put that conversation off for as long as possible.

“I think she might be capable of change, Andy. I would've thought she'd laugh at something like that, honestly.” Hermione said thoughtfully.

Andromeda did not have to voice her internal war because her face did a fair job on its own, the conflict so plainly showed her strong emotions. “I'm not so sure.” she replied evenly.

“I can't explain it, but there is something there- something we can use to bring her back, to bring your sister back!” Hermione exclaimed and by the time she was finished, the girl was sitting up.

“You are an amazing witch, Hermione. You have such a forgiving heart.” Andromeda said, but it sounded so soft that the girl almost felt like she was intruding on a private moment. Lips pulled back into an amused smile as Andromeda watched her, leaning up to kiss her lover. Hermione was going to fight her, she really was, but she was no match for the soft flesh that pressed against her lips. Hermione held a hand to Andromeda's cheek and copied the woman's actions; each little nip received one of its own, until a daring Hermione slipped her tongue into her mouth. Andromeda pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, her hands ran through messy locks of her young lover. The woman pulled back and her eyes were hungry with want, with need, but they needed to stop. _Hermione_ needed to stop. She needed to know where they stood.

“Andromeda-”

“In the morning, you have my word. For now, can I hold you?” The older woman whispered, both of her arms now held Hermione to her chest.

She nuzzled her face against Andromeda's silk nightgown and debated with herself. _It can wait until tomorrow_ , she reasoned. In the tight embrace, Hermione felt safe and wanted. A tiredness that had not presented itself before that moment caused her to yawn, her eyes fluttered closed. “Hold me, Andy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but we hit 100 pages! Thanks for your support and your reviews! Keep it coming ;)


	9. Aftershocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another memory review this time accompanied by the other two Black sisters.

Something smelled absolutely _wonderful_ to the sleeping lioness that nestled against her supine, rivers of chestnut hair spread like a decorative fan across their pillows. Roasted coffee beans wafted through the air all the way from the manor's kitchen, presumably, and it was all too overwhelming. Hermione's stomach gurgled and she cursed it at its noise, her lover stirring awake. Brown eyes acted as if they resisted the woman's desire to open them, too subdued by a seemingly wondrous sleep. The harsh sunbeam that fell within her line of sight certainly did not help in her fight. Andromeda eventually found enough strength to blink, then greeted her young lover with a smile that felt so warm to the girl. A hand crawled up Hermione's covered side with a lazy desire, sought only to learn her partner rather than driven by a need derived from lustful debauchery.

“Good morning, little fox.” Andromeda greeted.

Her lover's hand had settled on caressing the dip of her neck, and those fingers traced a smooth bony line back and forth. Hermione blushed a virginal red and rolled over in green sheets, unwilling to face Andromeda. “Good morning.” she replied.

Andromeda hooked her leg around hers and grabbed her arm, then pulled Hermione on top of her. She heard the older witch sigh contentedly, her hands massaged slim hips. “I like the feeling of you like this...on me, though I wish you were a bit heavier.” the woman murmured, eyes critiquing her form.

“I'm working on it.” Hermione replied, though she felt a wave of shame bloom in her. It was hard not to eat the exquisite food she had quickly grown a strong liking for at the manor, but she knew she could eat more. Regardless of what Andromeda thought she knew, the young witch would examine herself in the mirror each night before bed, and she could see her rapid evolution from walking corpse to being only slightly underweight although noticeably so.

Her lover held her face then pressed a kiss to her lips, and when Andromeda's face knitted together in worry, Hermione found herself confused. “I meant nothing by that, my dear. You are beautiful as you are, of course. It's just that, well, I've noticed you have a hard time eating.” Andromeda quickly explained.

' _She thinks I'm upset.'_ Hermione found herself amused at the thought. She returned the woman's worries with a slow, though spark-worthy kiss. “Andy, I do so adore you.” she whispered when she paused for breath. Her lips continued to devour her red-faced lover, ample dampness coated her crotch and she pressed that wetness to plush hips. “I took no offense to it, trust me. I know I need to deal with it, I'm going at it at my own pace.” Hermione found herself saying as she kissed down Andromeda's neck.

The older witch twitched underneath her and Hermione smiled because it was _her_ that affected her so. Andromeda's hands rested on the girl's lower back in a respectful manner, but any fighting will the woman was draining with Hermione's pecking. She knew the girl did not need a response, but she wanted to give her one, almost felt obligated to make sure Hermione held no doubt of her comments. “You are amazing, you know that?” Andromeda murmured.

“Yes, now shut it.” Hermione demanded.

Those words were followed with a smug grin and the girl continued to kiss down Andromeda's chest, hands sought another and fingers intertwined. The Black sister squeezed her hands in a pleased jolt, her desire evident as her hip rolled like a curled wave. Hermione thought herself to be quite humble for the most part, but she could not fight the overly cocky feeling she experienced from her lover's reaction. _'Is this how Andromeda feels when she touches me?'_ Hermione thought to herself. She moaned as the woman squirmed under her and felt addicted to the pleasure she felt. She settled between Andromeda's legs and drew a hand to a thigh, stroking the tender flesh there. Her fingers trailed across her partner's covered sex and she suddenly felt bashful, though the moan from above her prompted her to continue. “Is this alright, Andy?” Hermione asked. She could see the words Andromeda swallowed by the subtle movements of her neck and stilled her movements. Silence fell between the two for what felt like forever until the woman nodded her consent, which was all Hermione needed to accomplish what she set out to do. Her hands had just started to pulled down modest underwear when an ' _Alohomora'_ was uttered at the door, the door's lock clicked after and then the door itself swung open.

Narcissa strolled in with her usual proper stride, curious eyes took in the current situation of her lover with her sister. Hermione was mortified. How could she feel so many feelings at once? Embarrassment, unbearable desire now only intensified by the sight of the beautiful blonde's tight-fitting black dress. Nothing was extraordinary about the dress itself, but the shapes it formed with Narcissa's body left her awestruck in any matter. “My, my, what a delicious sight! I hope you both do not mind getting my own little taste.” Narcissa chuckled, then shut the door behind her.

“W-What?” Hermione asked, her eyes grew wide.

The girl grew frustrated when the blonde sister did not respond, but she could not hold it against her, not when Hermione was in the position she was in. She looked up to Narcissa (which was unusual since she stood an inch taller than her in a standing position) and her heart drummed with caution, a warning that alerted her with each pump of the organ. A pointed finger cupped her chin and Hermione imagined herself as a service worker, pushed into submission by her demanding mistress. “I've missed you and your sexy self.” Narcissa murmured, and in the next moment her lips were upon hers. The kiss was slow and intoxicating, despite how uncomfortable Hermione felt participating in that activity in front of the woman's _sister_.

“You've mortified the poor girl, Cissy!” Andromeda exclaimed, rolling her eyes in a manner Hermione compared to a child-like fashion.

“So?” was the blonde's lazy reply.

She could tell Andromeda's patience had worn thin. “So sod off!”

“Don't be selfish.” Narcissa scolded, a playful glimmer flickered in blue eyes. “Hermione doesn't mind, does she?”

The young witch blushed profusely and fell backwards, her hands flung up to hide her face. “You both are driving me insane!” Hermione yelled. She propped herself up on her elbows and glanced between the two women, fighting the urge to look away from them. “You play wicked games with me and I am quite tired of it. We should focus on what you have requested me to do.”

Although Hermione had not intended to do so, the mood was quickly ruined. She still had heat in her sex, wetness on her thighs, but somehow managed to restrain herself. Hermione scampered off the bed and fled to the bathroom, a quick ' _Accio!'_ thrown in the direction of the oak dresser which prompted clothes to fly out at her. She stumbled inside the bathroom covered in a tornado of fabric and shut the door behind her, locking it with her wand. As she leaned against the door, Hermione let out a sharp exhale and started to freshen up. Brown pants were buckled to her frame with a black belt and an off-white turtleneck sweater hid her torso. There was nothing special about her trainers, but they added a casual look to her attire, along with the ability to run in them which might not be such a bad idea, after what they were about to do. Hermione tamed her wild wisps of hair and came back to the bedroom, both witches clothed and appeared to be in conversation before her return. They eyed her although the brown set could not meet her gaze and the blue ones seemed wary. She didn't know what to make of it.

The sisters followed Hermione as she pushed past them and out of the room, her legs moved swiftly and with purpose. She remembered the way to _her_ room, second story along the right corridor once reaching the level. If either witch were surprised that Hermione knew this, they did not voice it. The atmosphere on the second floor was different in every single way to the walls that dwell below. This floor held feeling, something palpable and thick, and the girl did not like the way shivers ran down her spine. Her gryffindor bravery always faltered, but that is the nature of bravery is it not? The strength to power through, to continue on despite whatever fear one may be confronted with, the _choosing_ to do the right thing. It is the very meaning of courage itself. Hermione needed every ounce of it she could get to twist the shiny black knob in her hand.

She entered the mad woman's room, her sisters in tow behind the girl. Bellatrix stood on her balcony overlooking the garden behind the home. The balcony itself stood hidden in a thicket of trees, although if one was daring enough they could climb the tree itself from there and see a much more significant view of their surroundings. Hermione spotted the beautiful overgrown greenhouse tucked away in a corner of hedges and her mind flashed back to her time in there with Narcissa. She swallowed hard and shook her head of those thoughts, her footsteps stopped a few feet short of the eldest Black sister. Bellatrix slowly turned around and though Hermione's first thought was of the woman's beauty, the thought that followed wasn't as pleasant. Lack of sleep was apparent on the witch, her eyes shadowed by whatever kept her up. From an outsider's perspective, Bellatrix almost looked like Hermione when she could not sleep, and the girl found the comparison sat uncomfortably in her thoughts.

“Nice of you lot to drop by. What's the occasion?” Bellatrix drawled, her back rested against the railing of the terrace. Hermione almost smiled at the disapproval evident on Narcissa's face. _'Always the proper witch!'_ she thought idly.

The blonde gestured for the others to take a seat on the outdoor furniture, wrought-iron metal chairs that surrounded a glass table with a black umbrella stuck through the middle of it. As they took their seats, Narcissa cleared her throat. “You failed to tell us of your little _meeting_ yesterday, dear sister.” she said.

Bellatrix leaned back in her chair and crossed a leg over the other, her hand brushed her skirt's wrinkles out. She appeared thoughtful for a moment before a wicked smile spread across red lips. “I wasn't aware we were to be supervised during this. What good is it to have you watching us dip into the pensieve?”

“At least one of us has to witness this also.” Narcissa replied evenly, snapping her fingers as soon as Bellatrix roared in outrage. A house-elf that was not Pinky appeared and took his mistress's orders without refusal, appearing with a tea set in the next moment. Hermione thought it odd how Bellatrix could almost be coddled by the blonde sister, her yelling ceased at the raise of Narcissa's hand. Andromeda poured her own tea, Bellatrix demanded the house-elf to pour for her (as well as insisting on two sugars to be mixed within the tea), but Narcissa stopped Hermione from getting up. It seemed like Narcissa would serve her until to all three of the witches' surprise, Bellatrix stood. In a swift yet jerking motion, the eldest sister ripped the teapot from the woman muttering something about 'damn blood rites' and 'always a power play with you, _Cissy_ '. She did not know how to respond to the outstretched hands that held her tea by the crazed woman in front of her, though she supposed nodding her thanks worked out well.

However, Bellatrix lips curled in displeasure. “ _I_ pour a filthy little rat some tea and she can't even bother to voice her gratitude.”

“I'm sorry, I was stunned for a moment. Thank you, Ms. Black.” Hermione murmured, then took a sip of her tea. She watched a conflict break out on the woman's face, some mixture between surprise at the way the girl had addressed her and pleased that she had thanked her. Bellatrix said nothing but looked to her sisters who both seemed equally surprised. They sat in silence until the house-elf returned with a platter of assorted goods, and Hermione was the first to pick up a baked sweet potato round sprinkled with pepper and held some kind of meat that was drizzled in sauce. Another hand sought the same piece and it seemed Bellatrix had similar cravings. Before she realized it, she blushed and pulled her hand away as if she had been pricked. The woman across from her almost smiled but Hermione thought herself to be delusional, for the lips never fully pulled into a grin and remained in a line. She instead reached for a raspberry danish and captured one in a napkin. She could not get messy, lest her vile acquaintance find yet another thing to ridicule her over.

Once everyone seemed placated by food, Andromeda peeled at the muffin in her hand with her eyes on her older sister. “You should have told us. We would've allowed you some private sessions if you felt more comfortable sharing some memories with Hermione without us, but now you've forced our hand!” Andromeda growled. The girl might have found the way Andromeda broke each piece of her muffin apart in precise, fast motions funny had she not felt ashamed.

Why had she not told neither sister about Bellatrix's request? She had foolishly walked in there alone. The ministry had taken away the woman's ability to kill magically, but nothing about the more mundane way to kill. In fact, Bellatrix's bony hands could end her if she so desired. She eventually came to the conclusion that she did not tell Andromeda because she was avoiding her due to her whole issue with the woman in itself, and she did not tell Narcissa because the woman jumped her bones at every given moment. Hermione felt reluctant to allow the woman to touch her so, but it was hard to refuse such a temptress and it often left her with an overwhelming amount of emotions.

“What makes you think I needed your permission?” Bellatrix asked. She watched as the woman drew her wand and it made her hand itch, some instinct compelled her to protect herself. Hermione's hand stilled. “After all, it is up to the willing participant isn't it?”

All eyes honed in on Hermione but the sight they saw was comical, her cheeks stretched with the stuffing of her pastry. Raspberry filling left its red jelly in the corner of her lips and she quickly found a napkin to clean herself. The gryffindor berated herself internally and wished for a split-second she did not exist in that moment. The women looked amused, even Bellatrix's lips twitched at the sight, although Hermione chalked it up to her general distaste for the girl and every opportunity to humiliate her.

“Is that true?” Hermione sought confirmation as she dabbed at her mouth.

Narcissa gave nothing away but Andromeda shifted uncomfortably, her eyes narrowed at her sister's before settling delicately on the girl. “You have the final say, dear. However, it would mean more to me if you trusted us to go with you until I feel confident that...” Andromeda trailed off, unsure how to continue.

“Until we're confident our troublesome sister won't hex you.” Narcissa finished.

“Oh please! I didn't do anything to the fuckin' girl yesterday, now did I?” Bellatrix scoffed.

“Bella!”

Hermione was surprised by how easy it was to irritate the dark-haired witch, and was further confused by her defensive nature. Once her plate was left with only crumbs, Hermione observed the women. Narcissa was clearly irate but managed to keep an even mask unlike her sister Andromeda, who could not hide the emotions that played on her features. She watched as the two eldest exchanged terse words, Bellatrix's insults escalating in their vindictiveness and Andromeda's words becoming more and more off-script. They turned their heads when the girl cleared her throat and rest her hands on the arms of her chair, her fingers drummed as she was deep in thought.

After silent deliberation, Hermione spoke. “Why am I here? How is _my_ testimony actually beneficial to you in any way? Why aren't the Ministry's people going through these memories and validating them? Weren't they suppose to check them at her trial?” They were fair questions, the girl thought. She didn't have to be subjected to a job someone else could easily do. There must be a reason why.

“You ask a lot of questions.” Narcissa remarked, a playful gleam shone in her eyes. “They did not have time to go through all of the crimes she has been accused of. The crowds were demanding her execution or at the very least, a return to Azkaban.” The words held a strange energy and so did the blonde, Hermione noticed. It was a tell-tale sign of her mask slipping, but Narcissa managed to keep her features cool. Oh, how it hurt to have a door closed in front of her and how it kept her from seeing her blonde lover fully. “So they chose the most heinous and checked for sign of Bellatrix being under _Imperio_ which they found in each of them. Thank goodness.” Narcissa added, then sighed and lifted a hand to her forehead.

“I don't know why my lord chose to...use me like he did.” Bellatrix interjected, her face formed a thoughtful expression. She almost looked endearing to Hermione. “I would've done all of it without his help, though I can't say it doesn't help me now.”

Hermione tossed her a withering look to the mad woman who stared back at her with such an intensity, it made her squirm. Bellatrix was daring her to speak and she would not disappoint her. “If that is the case, why should I help you then? You feel no remorse for having done those things, even if someone else was controlling you. Anyone else would despise each day of their existence with those images in their head!” Hermione spat. Her nails had dug into the worn leather and she eased her grip once she saw the blonde sister give her a disapproving glance. “Like I said, I don't have to be here.”

“No, but I would rather have your little muddy self in my head rather than the Ministry's dogs.” Bellatrix replied coolly.

Her mouth hung open for a moment before she gathered herself. “Why?”

Bellatrix paused and then shrugged without care, her hand twisted her slightly-bent wand that was held by her other. “I thought it would be impossible to hate something more than you, but even you're better than those monsters. Fourteen years of dementors feeding off me, fourteen years I waited to be free! Now I've only been put into another cage,” Bellatrix threw her hand up to silence an offended Narcissa, “albeit gilded. I prefer this to Azkaban.”

The answer sat well with Hermione, even as far as to say pleased to not be the woman's number one enemy. She could settle for number two. “Yes, I'd quite like to change how the Ministry operates. You'd think we'd experience any real change after the war but it went back to how it was before. Everything works in shadows and in hidden truths.” Hermione sighed. The eldest sister suddenly stood and walked across the room, evidently abandoning their conversation. _'How rude!'_ Hermione thought with slight irritation.

“Alright, let's get this over with. Which charge are we on?” Bellatrix asked absentmindedly, her pensieve flew out of her cabinet and hovered in front of her. Her wand rested against her head as Narcissa looked through papers that suddenly appeared in her hands.

“Crime is depicted under the charge as an accomplice in the torturing and killing of Nancy Potter in 1979.”

The name fell off the blonde's lips in an odd, unsettling manner. Of course the individual must have been related to Harry in some way, but Hermione knew about his family as much as the boy himself did, which was not much. “Who is she to Harry?” Hermione was unable to keep herself from asking.

Narcissa turned to her, her head cocked curiously. “Grandmother, I believe. James Potter's mother.”

Hermione's eyes caught Bellatrix and words were exchanged through that stare, through the silence that hung in the air and suffocated those in the room. Not knowing what to say, Hermione simply approached Bellatrix, then looked over her shoulder to the two witches behind her. “Right, well. We shouldn't put it off any longer.” she muttered. The girl crossed her arms over her chest and waited as they all gathered around the pensieve. Bellatrix held no emotion as her wand pulled out white wispy threads, swaying as if they were drifting in invisible sea. The woman added her memory to the magical bowl and the group was immediately met with shrieking.

“Merlin, Bella.” Andromeda shuddered, reluctance evidence in her face.

Narcissa held out her hands to her sisters who took them without a word, though Hermione felt her heart flip at the thought of touching the dark witch next to her. She did not meet Bellatrix's gaze as she slipped her hand into a soft, manicured one, though the nails were rather frighteningly long. Her other hand joined Andromeda's who squeezed it in response. Safe. Hermione felt safer with Andromeda's hold on her. “No games, Bellatrix.” Narcissa warned. She knew the blonde would only tell her once.

A small pout formed on the eldest sister's lips and she almost found it cute, but the bile that threatened to rise at such mindless thought was a much more vocal feeling. “You don't know how to play, anyways.” she said with a huff. _'Yes, quite adorable.'_ Hermione thought with a roll of her eyes. After Bellatrix took her time to sulk, she went head-first into the pensieve, taking the three witches along with her.

The cobblestone streets of the little autumn town were silent, as if was foreshadowing the evening's sorrow. The group of witches followed behind the young Bellatrix, her beauty was devastating. Hermione felt embarrassed by the way she ogled the onyx vixen so; her curves were filled out and the young witch had an overall healthy glow, the years of being imprisoned had not yet wrecked her frame. That wasn't to say she could not admire the woman now. Her eyes flickered between her time's Bellatrix, only to meet a glacier of frozen emotion. The girl moved to Bellatrix's side and ignored the way the woman's eyes slid over to her figure with subtle movement. Wind blew past them and it surprised Hermione how vivid a memory could feel. How it smelled even, actually-....No. She sniffed the air and picked up hints of soot and mint, as well as some kind of spice like nutmeg, though it was not entirely accurate. The smell was stronger the closer she leaned to Bellatrix and she swallowed, then held her breath. Such scents were already overwhelming and when mixed together, entirely too much...though not unpleasantly so. Hermione returned her attention the pair in front of her, her wand held tightly in her hand as she recognized the young witch's companion.

Young Bellatrix was in a discussion with Tom Riddle. They followed the pair down an alleyway and stopped just before they were exposed by the crossing street. Tom threw his arm to contain her, his piercing eyes surveying the large townhouse in front of them. “I'd say it is in your best interest to have this task go smoothly, my darling protege.” Tom stated, his voice seeped with a cautionary threat.

The girl looked afraid but only her eyes showed that emotion; otherwise, the younger Bellatrix showed nothing else. When the duo started off towards the building, Hermione struggled to keep up with how fast they truly were. Bellatrix in her time was quicker than Hermione, but her younger version was insurmountably faster. Tom disappeared in a flurry of black smoke and left a trail towards the roof. His _protege_ entered through the front door with ease. She looked back to the sisters who seemed robotic, both wearing faces of faux disinterest. The way the women acted confused Hermione. Unlike them, she wore her heart on her sleeve. Perhaps that was why it was so easily broken. She shook heart from those thoughts, seeing that she gained nothing beneficial by thinking them.

Flower wallpaper stretched on the walls around the intruders, a warm tone wood trim ran along the base and ceiling. Old muggle sconces held dim orange light, casting dark shadows on the hidden surfaces of their faces. Hermione watched as the younger Bellatrix held her wand in her hands, her eyes focused on it. She wished, not for the first time, that she could read thoughts. However, she could see the turmoil that raged over a pinched brow and grinding teeth, in white knuckles that shook almost imperceptibly so. Something inside of her implored her to soothe the woman and it took a shocking amount of willpower to remain frozen in position. She briefly wondered if Harry's struggle with Voldemort's hold over him was comparable to how she felt in that moment.

They followed the raven-haired girl to the living room and Hermione found it odd she could not hear the soft static of muggle television, an old wooden box set nestled against the corner of the small den. An elderly woman with a kind face sat in a red armchair, a tea cup in her hand with a spoon spinning around in it with no hand attached to it. Hermione looked at the picture frames hung on the wall with the spitting image of Harry, though different in small ways. The eyes, most notably. James Potter had wild coiffed hair in a proper boy's hairstyle, cheeky grins in each photo he appeared in. The animated teenage James had his arm slung around who she assumed were his parents, his gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck. To her surprise, she found Sirius Black in one of the Christmas photos, his hair pulled back into a short ponytail and that charming smile of his. Sadness filled her at the sight and she tore her eyes away from the walls to the scene in front of her.

Hermione felt the magic all of a sudden and realized there was a muffling charm on the room and they had crossed the barrier in the doorway. The girl knew how to cover her tracks and it bothered her. After all, she was witnessing the making of a killer...or at the very least, torturer. A wand was raised by young Bellatrix and as the girl cleared her throat, the old woman stopped stirring her tea. “Mrs. Potter, if you answer my questions I won't hurt you. Don't make me hurt you.” Bellatrix warned, her soft voice was aggressive but it shook with palpable fear.

Aged hands set the tea cup on the table beside her and Nancy Potter turned to face the girl. Hermione could see Andromeda shift out of the corner of her eye and she slowly lifted her hand behind her without turning, finding the woman's and holding it in hers. It pleased Hermione to see her demeanor change into a bashful one and she received an appreciative squeeze for her comforting gesture. Nancy's croaking yet somehow soothing voice called her attention. “Oh, Ms. Black. You are a spitting image of your Aunt Walburga, did you know that?” she asked, unbelievably chipper despite the situation.

Bellatrix apparently thought so as well, her wand nearly lowered from the unexpected friendly response. Wary eyes narrowed at the woman and courage filled the young witch, her arm regaining its aim. “Old hag, I've not come here for tea and cakes! Now tell me where your little blood-traitor son is!” she screamed.

“James isn't here.” the woman replied with a smile. _'Such kind eyes.'_ Hermione thought sadly.

“I bloody well know that. You're starting to get on my nerves.”

The young witch inched closer to the woman still sat in the chair and Hermione reflected on how much the younger Bellatrix had changed in the short three years between the memory she'd visited prior and now. There was a manic to the girl now, notably off-kilter but not entirely insane. She still seemed like a proper pureblood. Nancy stood in front of her and drew her wand, though she did not aim it at the young Death Eater. “It's not too late. The Order can help you.” she offered.

“I don't need help. I'm where I belong.”

“Surely by now you've visited the Department of Mysteries, correct?”

The young witch did not respond, but her arm dropped in clear surprise. Hermione did not follow, but she continued to listen for the woman to answer her unspoken questions. “What do you know, you insufferable crone?!” The voice sounded desperate.

“Tonight must start with the Seer's end-”

“What are you on about?” The girl was confused. The room started to chill the occupants, Narcissa's slow breaths exhaled into translucent clouds in the cold air.

“For the sisters of Black to reunite and mend their branches with gold and red, silver and green-”

“You're fucking mental!” the young girl shrieked.

The present-day Bellatrix started to shake- no, _had_ been shaking for some time but only now did Hermione notice. Once she was confident she would not be seen, she sought out Bellatrix's hand with her free one. She had not known what possessed her to comfort the woman, but she could not deny how good she felt when she saw the woman relax. Even if it was only the slightest bit.

“In two blinks, hope will be bred. In seventeen, hope will be seen.” Nancy finished, unfazed by how unhinged the girl now appeared in front of her.

The same black smoke seen outside now filled the room, revealing the dark elitist. “How are you coming along, my dear Bella?” His voice feigned exhaustion. Hermione scowled at the man's appearance and suddenly she felt warmth pressed to her back, hands placed on her hips. The blonde witch chose to hold her from behind, and although it did not placate the fear the man sparked in her, it tempered it with the woman's unspoken support.

“Filthy mud-lover's being difficult. Typical.” Bellatrix replied immediately, her head bowed in submission at her master's entrance.

“Disappointing, Ms. Black.” His voice pitched an octave as he sung his displeasure, his descent down the staircase yelled his presence through each creaking step. His swamp-colored cloak dragged behind him like a thick layer of muck in a bog; the heavy cloth did not seem to bother the man, as he moved with such ease that Hermione would describe him as floating rather than walking.

The young witch cowered but returned her wand's aim to the woman across from her. “I can fix it, my lord. I need only your instruction.”

“Kill her.”

Bellatrix faltered and glanced at Nancy, who only smiled with such sadness. The woman turned to the picture frames Hermione had observed earlier and closed her eyes, a hand in her pocket. “I wish I could've met the boy.” the woman said, though not to anyone in the room. The girl still did not move. Hermione noted a soft ringing and looked around to the others to see if they heard it as well, but no one seemed to.

“I will not ask you again, Bellatrix.”

A sudden warmth spread through the room and through tiny holes in the fabric of the woman's cardigan, there was a soft glow. When Nancy pulled out a coin, Hermione's eyes widened and she nearly snapped her neck turning it to see Riddle's reaction. The Dark Lord's eyes flashed in every direction before uttering _'Imperio'_ , and Bellatrix's eyes glazed over. The hand in Hermione's tightened its hold on hers and she stifled a whimper, catching the questioning eye of Narcissa. “Kill her.” Cracks and pops were heard in a rapid succession outside the townhouse and she knew it to be the appearance of aurors, summoned by the coin that continued to glow in Nancy's hand.

The front door was suddenly thrown open with shouts, the young girl's wand raised as she shouted, “Avada Kedavra!”

Jets of green shot across the room and hit the woman in the chest, not a sound uttered from her lips as she fell. What remained of Nancy Potter was her corporeal form slumped in a mound of tangled limbs, but Hermione thought to look like Harry when he slept, with full eyelids shut and the stout nose that her friend seemed to inherit from the Potter line. The comparison made her sick. The man grabbed the girl by her hair and disapparated, the group mimicked his actions and soon they were returned to Bellatrix's bedroom. Hermione broke away from the sisters and ran outside to hurl her stomach's contents over the balcony's edge. Two sets of heels clacked against the ground as they rushed to her side, the blonde held back her hair as the brunette rubbed her back. She hadn't noticed the tears until they fell to her lip, mixing with the bits of vomit that stuck there.

“It's alright, dear. Let it out.” Andromeda murmured.

Silent tears fell down her face. Hermione was so tired of death following her, of seeing things people should never seen. Things people should have never _done_.

“I'll admit...I don't understand why he spilled pure blood, even if she was an old loon past her child-rearing years.” Bellatrix said as she slowly approached them, her gaze settled far away.

Her hands balled into fists on the stone railing, unfeeling of the abrasions of soft skin against rough rock. “You still believe blood matters? Your beloved lord was a half-blood defeated by another half-blood!”

Bellatrix's head snapped to her and she almost regretted her statement. “You remind me of that every moment I share your very presence.” she replied.

She tried to feel comforted by the two women holding her, caring for her, but she could not seem to no matter how hard she tried. Hermione pulled away and faced the dark haired woman, who was momentarily caught off-guard but remained expressionless save for the emotion that lied in her crow's feet. She wanted to feel angry and she did, but not to the extent she desired. The longer Hermione stared at Bellatrix, the more she pitied her and saw the scared girl she had seen in the two memories so far. The girl noted the tension in the woman's shoulders as if she was expecting to be lashed out at, and it only served to make her feel guilty which only added to her confusing mix of emotions. “I am sorry that it causes you pain, but that is _all_ I am sorry for. If you expect me to work with you, you'll have to treat me with respect. Show some regret! Do you not feeling anything?” she questioned, her finger poked at the eldest sister's chest.

Her words were immediately met with a wand pressed against her throat, but two mirrored its actions and were on Bellatrix in an instant. Hermione swallowed as the tip of the wand barely moved over the lump in her throat, dark eyes followed the trail before meeting hers once more. Bellatrix glanced between her sisters who stared at her with an admittedly unnerving intensity, but she did not waver. “I'll think about it, pet.” Bellatrix said simply, then removed and sheathed her wand. She spun on her heel and left her room, slamming her door behind her.

She sagged and fell back into Andromeda's arms. The multitude of emotions had worn her out and Hermione wanted nothing more than her warm bed. She looked up at the women who seemed to know what she needed without picking through her thoughts, and then was led out of the room without pause. Andromeda was always gentle and kind, but Narcissa had never acted like this around Hermione. The blonde witch walked with a quick pace; terse shoulders and a straightened back- signs of a stressed yet ever proper pureblood woman. Her mask was slipping and she could see worry in the woman's creased brow, sadness in her eyes, and- something else lingered there. It mingled with the despair so well she could not decipher what else had been there. They arrived to her suite and Narcissa searched through her dresser as Andromeda guided her to the bathroom. Hermione brushed her teeth until there was no trace of her sick, then returned to the beside with the mother hen on her tail. Andromeda waited and Hermione looked around idly, until a throat cleared and signaled her to strip.

“Andy, I...” Hermione murmured. Her head turned away in embarrassment.

“Come on now, nothing I haven't seen before. I mean, I haven't seen it. Not to say I wouldn't mind seeing it.” Andromeda rushed out.

The laugh that came from Narcissa made her smile and she felt a little less shy as she unbuckled her belt and slid her pants off. The blonde witch reappeared to her side, holding a long nightgown that was definitely not _hers_. “I'm not wearing that!” Hermione squeaked, and it only intensified the warmth in her cheeks. The nightgown was made of silk but held decorative lace design, and it reminded her of her mother's rather horrid wedding dress.

Narcissa laid the gown on the bed and raised an eyebrow. “It's fitting for a girl like you.”

“A girl like me?” Hermione asked.

“Untouched. Pure. Virginal.” Narcissa murmured, her fingers stroked the neckline of the nightgown and it made her shiver.

She chose not to respond and slid off her shirt, trying desperately to ignore the hot stares that ogled her so openly. She also chose to ignore the heat stirring between her legs. Hermione slipped the gown over her head and unhooked her bra under the dress and fought the smile that eventually graced her lips when she realized how annoyed her lovers seemed by the clever undressing. Andromeda pulled back the blankets and Hermione slipped in without a word, her back silently praised Narcissa for choosing such a comfortable bed. The two women gathered by the door and spoke in a quiet conversation which Hermione tried so hard eavesdrop on, but could not. Andromeda took her leave and her sister returned to the bed, but on the other side this time. Hermione cocked her head in question, but it was soon answered as Narcissa transfigured her dress into a silver nightgown. Her ivory legs stretched forever, the bottom of the nightwear stopped at the woman's mid-thigh. If it rose up enough, she might even be able to see-

“You need only ask, lover.” Narcissa purred as her hand snaked into brown, curly locks.

“You need to stop intruding on my thoughts.” Hermione sighed, but with that touch she might let the witch do whatever she pleased.

Narcissa's response was a small smile, though obscured from view when the woman moved into closer. In all of her nineteen years, Hermione had never craved such physical intimacy. Her prior experience had been mediocre at best, but the Blacks must have Veela blood somewhere in their line because Hermione found herself incredibly drawn to each sister in their own way. Even Bellatrix, the confession hid somewhere in the back of her mind. Her hand rested against a sharp jaw and she felt her own being caressed with tender touches. _'If she keeps doing that with her mouth, I'm going to combust.'_ Hermione thought, then cursed herself when she felt those lovely, damning lips spread into a smile against her neck. “I do not do it on purpose, Hermione. If I wanted to know something from you, I'd make you feel it,” she murmured, then paused to trap her lips around skin and suck. “...I believe some occulumency lessons are in order for tomorrow?” she suggested, then released the skin with a pop of her lips.

Hermione moaned and her hands ran down the woman's shoulders, her nails gently pressed into a marble back. She could barely understand Narcissa with the way she was practically devouring her! Not that she would complain too much, but she could not afford to be distracted. Hands pushed the blonde back just enough for her to see her lover, though nothing prepared her for the ravenous look in the blue eyes she adored. Hermione blushed both at her revealing thoughts and for being the recipient of such desire. Admittedly, the girl was not used to it. “I know, and I don't fault you too hard for it. Just don't ridicule me with them.” she whined.

“You would rob me of my joy?” Narcissa asked, her hand at her chest offended.

They stared at each other until Hermione broke into smile, which prompted her companion to mimic her expression. “It's only fun for you.” Hermione pointed out. She reached out to stroke black and blonde hair, her smile continued to hang from her lips.

Narcissa laid her head on her pillow, her eyes fluttered shut as she drank in the girl's touch. The woman appeared so docile and so _young_ in her current state, with such an innocence that settled there that Hermione would never have thought the woman to have lived through two wars. _'And on the wrong side, at that.'_ Hermione added in her thoughts. Her fingers fell to rub along Narcissa's jaw and she saw parts of the woman she had seen in Draco. Despite her previous disagreements with the boy, Hermione had to admit the woman passed on her beauty in him. Lucius was not particularly ugly, but Narcissa helped that gene pool tremendously. Without reason, flashes of children with blonde curls ran in front of her in her mind's randomly generated landscape. If the woman read her thoughts that time, she did not react.

Hermione stared at her for so long that she noticed minutes later how slow the woman's chest rose and fell, asleep by her touch. As she leaned over, her fingers brushed the woman's bangs from her head and she placed a kiss there. The young witch held onto the fabric near Narcissa's hips and nuzzled against her as she started getting comfortable for her rest. Her mind continued to dwell on the children, a secret indulgence as her lover was no longer privy to her thoughts. When Hermione thought about her future, she did imagine children but only after she managed her way up the political ladder of the Ministry. She did not want to bring her children up into a world that was not secure enough. With that as her final thought, Hermione drifted to sleep.

Blue eyes slowly opened and watched the girl softly exhale, then a hand stretched to tuck hair behind her ear. The woman felt guilty and though she truly had not sought out the young witch's thoughts, she still heard them. It made Narcissa's heart swell with a maternal glee and also awakened a need to claim the girl as her own significantly more than the need had felt prior. The Black sister's hand paused as she regarded the girl; intrusive thoughts pushed to the forefront of her head, like waking the girl up and taking her right then and there. As she continued to stare at Hermione, she felt her resolve strengthen. Narcissa promised herself to wait for her lover to be comfortable, for _her_ to initiate such an action. Her arm rested over the gryffindor's midsection and she pressed her nose to her neck, inhaling the girl's scent. The woman sighed as she smelled own beauty products on Hermione's skin and hair, and her hand grabbed at the sheets, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She thanked whoever left the gaudy nightgown in the guest room dresser because Narcissa had looked through the girl's nightwear and found it to be utterly _revealing_ and therefore _tempting_.

Sleep was calling Narcissa and she had no choice but to respond accordingly, though not without one last kiss to Hermione's lips. “We will have that future, my love.” she whispered. The promise hung in the air unanswered, but Narcissa would remember it. Hell, the woman would perform an Unbreakable to the girl if necessary, not only because Hermione desired a future with Narcissa and children, but because she wanted it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than usual, but a lot of information exchanged. Hermione returns to school soon, so they're in a rush to get as much done as possible before she's called away. When her time is up, will Hermione be leaving with more than one lover? Or will she leave with no lover at all? Stay tuned. :)


	10. Nothing Gained Is Nothing Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Information chunk. In this chapter, we see Hermione kind of retreat into herself. She gets lost in her own thoughts far too often.

If Hermione did not stop sleeping with another person, she reckoned returning to Hogwarts would be that much harder to do when the time comes. Students were due back to classes on the sixth of January, and so that left her with only four more days to get as much of their mission accomplished as possible. Narcissa and Andromeda were depending on her, after all. Hermione leaned back in the leather recliner tucked cozily by the fireplace, the base was clean of soot. Not a surface left untouched when one has house-elves, she presumed. In her lap laid a book read half-way through and her hand held her place as her eyes became unfocused; the girl's peripherals became blurry. Her toffee irises were trained on a moving picture hung on the wall.

A name was written above it and Hermione could not quite make it out. Upon further examination, she discovered there was a thick dust that covered the plaque. _'So much for surfaces left untouched,'_ she thought cheekily. She glanced at the page number and placed the closed book on the end-table, then her legs took her to the portrait. The background was a lightly-tanned stucco wall decorated with a round, wooden table, and on it sat a cobalt vase of flowers. Yellow carnations and orange lilies were the only flowers she could identify, but there was a mixture of bouquet filler with butterfly weeds and angel's breath flowers. The chair that accompanied the table sat empty and Hermione found it a good time to clear it of dust, if only to sate her curiosity and help out with some light housework at that. She withdrew her wand and muttered a spell under her breath, the dust shot off from the portrait in oneness, becoming a layer in front of her until it dissipated.

On the plaque read _'Druella Black n_ _ée Rosier'_ , the words embossed in gold lettering. The portrait itself hung like a tapestry, but the picture it held was so seamless it could have easily fooled Hermione for being the entrance to a separate room. The room around her pulsed around with a heavy air, the only possible source being magical to explain its intensity. She suddenly became uncomfortable, unsure of herself as she watched an invisible wind rustle the flowers. In the next moment, a woman appeared. If you could call such an attractive being something as mundane as human, when her physical appearance could be likened to a Veela. A siren, depending on if the woman would speak to her. Druella had blonde hair, pinned back in such a specific way that no doubt Narcissa copied her style from her mother, and it hung in curls as thick as her other two children's hair. Only Andromeda had her nose, Hermione noted, but none of them had the woman's soft, oval jawline. They must have inherited their father's strong jaw.

The woman took her seat and waved a decorative fan, black in color and of a modest size. Familiar yet unsettling blue eyes settled on her, deep red lips pulled into a straight line. Hermione certainly did not feel welcomed by Druella's sudden appearance, but she could not ask the woman to leave. She was the mother to _both_ of her lovers, after all. The thought drained her of any good mood that she'd retained before. Taking a step back, Hermione checked her surroundings before greeting the Black matriarch. “Good morning, Madam Black.” she greeted with a respectful bow.

“Is it morning already? Never mind, no matter.” Druella spoke with a surprisingly raspy voice, though soft in its inflections. It seemed like the woman was talking to herself until she refocused her attention to the bushy-haired gryffindor. “And who might you be, child?” she asked, undisguised suspicion in her narrowed eyes.

“I'm Hermione Granger. I'm in my seventh year at Hogwarts.” Hermione found herself saying without thought. What a surprisingly simple answer. Throughout all of her years filled with epic (though perilous) adventures, at the end of it she was still just a girl. Druella hummed and Hermione thought it to be a good enough response to continue. “I've passed all but this next semester's classes at the top of each one, and-”

Druella held up a hand and it commanded her silence in an instant. “Granger? Not a pureblood name. House?”

“Gryffindor, Mrs. Black, though the sorting hat deliberately between that and Ravenclaw.” Hermione replied, a slight smile on her face.

“Pity.”

“Pardon?”

“I'm sure if you had the blood to back your name, you'd have made a fine slytherin... Ms. Granger.” the blonde woman said thoughtfully, her eyes trailed up the girl's form. “My dear grandson has told me a lot about you.”

Hermione felt bare under the intense gaze, her arms rose to cross over and cover her chest. “Draco has?” she asked. The woman in the portrait nodded. “I'm afraid you might have a terrible opinion of me, if that is the case.”

To her surprise, Druella chuckled and with a swish of her wrist, the black fan opened in a large curve. Blonde curls moved away from the forced wind as the woman fanned herself, her head shaking before she regarded Hermione with an amused glint in her eyes. “Mostly, though these last few years he's been rather vocal about his admiration for you.” Druella murmured.

Something told her she should not have awaken the portrait, but Hermione could not find a reason for that feeling that ebbed at her. She had a few possible excuses: for one, she was a guest and everything seemed off-limits. The only place Narcissa expressed some reluctance of her attending was the second landing, and that was only because of the woman's hellish sister. Secondly, the way the woman acted unnerved her. Based purely on rumors, Hermione thought the woman would have tried to spit at her. Of course, the mucus would have never reached the girl through magical boundaries that are tied to such an object, but it surprised how pleasant the woman seemed. She shook her head from her thoughts and scoffed, disbelief evident in her reaction. “Nice things to say about me? Surely we're not speaking about the same Draco Malfoy. Blond, rather short?” Hermione questioned playfully, seeking confirmation with a smile.

“His father is a small man. The poor boy inherited it from him.” Druella sighed, then set her fan off to the side. Manicured hands traced flower petals idly and Hermione allowed silence to fall between them as she waited for her to continue. “Your friends with Potter? The boy who fell He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

The gryffindor nodded. Druella looked uncomfortable, as if she did not know how to voice what she so obviously wanted to say. “Harry is a close friend of mine, yes.”

“Right.”

“What's the matter?” Hermione probed gently, stepping closer to the portrait.

Druella avoided her gaze and instead pulled out an orange lily, the petals that looked fine previously now appeared a bit wilted. She found it odd and could not keep from wondering about the drastic change, her eyes never left the flower in the blonde's hands. “I suppose you could say I'm mourning what's left of my family.” Fingers pulled at tangerine petals, each word said with equal amounts of sorrow and anger. “Our reputation is ruined.”

“Reputation doesn't matter in death.” Hermione replied tersely, stepping back from the portrait.

No response except for a blank stare.

“I mean it. I would expect you to be more upset that your family was on the wrong side and your daughters served under a doomed lord. People died because of him.”

Druella frowned and eyed the tiny white flowers that filled in the gaps of the bouquet. “I was never one for physical aggression. I won't lie to you, Ms. Granger, there is more power in pure lines. Power is _everything_ to a witch and I'm sure you know this.”

“I won't stand here and hear you preach your tainted beliefs to me. Voldemort is dead and part of the reason he died is because of me, a _mudblood_.” Hermione hissed. Though the moment was inappropriate for such a thought, she found herself thinking how amusing these purebloods spoke with such hatred of her heritage that they winced at a simple slur. One that usually fell easily from their tongues, no less!

The lily was abandoned on the table, petals torn surrounded the green stem. “I did not say you had no value, only that those with clean blood have greater value.” the woman stressed. “You are an outlier, my dear girl. Purebred children are raised with a vastness of secret knowledge at their disposal; spells, charms, all passed down from mother to daughter, father to son. Muggle-born children, and sometimes half-bloods, aren't even aware of their magical ability until they reach age eleven.”

Hermione shook her head and could not believe what she was hearing. “You mean to say that because we did not have the same start as some, that we aren't as powerful? That's ridiculous.” she said, a bitter laugh fell from her lips.

“Precisely. Your kind has over a decade gap between the types of learning we receive from the day we are born.”

“You sound absolutely pig-headed!”

Though she knew it to be the wrong thing to say, Hermione could hardly care. How _dare_ this woman treat her with kindness, almost a respectful tolerance and then speak as if she were nothing? It was over, she was done with Druella and her blasted first-born. The woman's tall form stretched high, her head nearing the top of the portrait, and her calves appeared under modest black fabric. Hermione stepped back as if the matriarch would pass right through the fabric, deadly hands on her in an instant. Realistically, such did not occur and the woman only offer her an icy stare. “You should learn your place, girl. Once you do that, perhaps you'd receive the respect you seek.” she simply replied.

Hermione gritted her teeth, willed herself to remain planted and to not falter in Druella's presence. “Magic is only as strong as its wielder. To believe that keeping one's line magical is folly because there is no difference between our blood, Madam Black.”

“You know nothing yet you are the brightest witch of your age.” Druella sighed, almost as if she were disappointed. She didn't want to hear anything else. With anger lapping at her heels, Hermione darted out of the library. No longer were the leather sofas comforting nor did she feel any sense of welcoming in those walls.

Druella's prejudice baffled her. _'Surprise, surprise, yet another_ _ **foul**_ _member of the blasted bunch!'_ Hermione mused to herself. She found herself racing down an unending corridor; narrow panes of glass sat on the far wall like tally marks, and they boasted a warmth from the outside that drew her to them. The sudden halt almost sent the girl falling, but her leg shot out and stopped her. Hermione looked around her surroundings, the marble floor that ran throughout the layout of the main level; though she had seen the bedrooms were the exception, since each one she had seen so far had plush carpet. She noticed no curtains were on the windows and surmised it due to how _tall_ they were. It'd be quite a challenge for the house-elves to draw close, since they weren't really allow to use the full extent of their magic.

Narcissa was kind enough to her creature servants, but Hermione saw howrestrained the house-elves' magic was. Typical of pureblood wizarding families, of course. Much like the sacks the elves wore, so did they bear an entrapment of spells on their magical cores. After all, one is much more submissive when drained and left weakened in a stronger opponent's presence. The thought chilled Hermione. A lot of the families also believed _her_ to be no lesser to such than a servant, even if they were of the same kind they were _different_ enough for prejudiced cause. If some of the more “compassionate” pureblood extremists had their way, Hermione would not manage a simple _Locomotion_ charm on what would've been massive drapes on the windows in front of her. The process of restraining a being's magic is tricky enough as it is, but house-elves have been in service to those families for centuries. In that time, she could only guess that the certain variation of the _Incarcerous_ spell combined with another unknown component became more refined over the years and thus made such binding easy work for a wizard of appropriate rearing age.

However, the same could not be said for that spell on wizard-folk. Despite its massive employment of skilled workers, the Ministry rarely considered caging the charged with magical impairment because the subject was grossly under-researched- not due to lack of employees, but because the topic was not understood by most who encountered it. Hermione peered down at small forms out in the garden and caught a glimpse of the manor's lady. She could not help but smile as her fingers started to seek out their lover, but fell once the girl realized what she was doing. Narcissa would certainlynot appreciate smudge prints on her window panes. If the woman came accompanied by anyone else, Hermione might have thought her on a date. Narcissa's arm linked with her horrid sister in such fashion that made feelings of jealousy prick at her like needles. Feeling an uneasiness settling in her spine, she sought out the eyes on her in the hallway but found none.

Memories started to trickle into her mind as she turned her attention back to the sisters in the garden; weight on her abdomen- one memory's of torture and the other's of passion. She could not make out any clear details of their features from here, but she could recall Bellatrix's vile yet intoxicating touch as well as Narcissa 's possessive, though motherly hands. Oh, how she _cursed_ her days more now than ever before! The Black family was a ball and chain around her ankle, in the kindest words possible. She felt wars rage in her, battles of emotions tear the terrain of her heart as their first and most innocent victim. Hermione confessed to herself if only to acknowledge its mere existence. The truth was far worse than any lie she could substitute for it, and it crept closer and closer to her reluctant acceptance. The fact of the matter was that she fancied the three sisters. She knew that, had felt her attraction to all three grow in their own unique ways.

Andromeda was a bookworm much like her and they had endless things to talk about. Hermione had never met someone she found that easy to engage with. Eventually, she developed what she hoped would be a schoolgirl crush. Innocent and fleeting. Since discovering how the woman could make her feel, she knew that not to be the case. Instead, every interaction they shared strengthened her feelings for Andromeda. Hermione felt the ghost of the brunette's touch, how particularly gentle it was compared to the other two's. Plump lips, brown curly locks that hung regally from her lover's head, and beautiful brown eyes that melted the girl under their gaze; those were things that Hermione took a natural liking to, and she learned to love the rest of the woman.

Hermione took timid steps but kept her gaze on the witches below, who now sat in a bench. Her heart both pulsed with equal amounts of adoration and indignant irritation at the display. The younger sister rested her head upon Bellatrix's shoulder and the two felt alone, eyes closed. They both looked so peaceful, so beautiful. It was hard for her to admit to herself that she was stung by how _open_ Narcissa seemed with her older sister in private. When Hermione came across the blonde, the moments they shared always left her burning with need. It was a different desire than her affection for Andromeda. The youngest Black sister demanded obedience, the enforcement of traditional values in her life. Not to mention Narcissa brought out Hermione's so-called 'know-it-all' attitude, one she was always embarrassed by when her friends joked about her. The blonde drew out debates with her and even conceded on points made by Hermione, much to the girl's egotistical pleasure. But she knew her place with Narcissa. She assessed every action that took place around her and controlled things behind the scenes.

She was perhaps an example of what Bellatrix might've been like if she weren't the eldest, if the woman hadn't strayed entirely into the dark. Hermione watched with morbid curiosity, her eyes unwilling to remove themselves from hooded eyes that hid emptiness. They did not always though, and therein lied her weakness. Bellatrix could have been so _much_. She brought her hand to her chest and took a step back from the window, as if distance between them wasn't far enough. Hermione's attraction to her was especially troubling. It was that one that made her feel the most guilty since she had committed such heinous crimes. The girl took a deep breath, she had to remember that the woman was _Imperio'd_ but Bellatrix never ran to the Order for help even when offered. Surely that counted as an offense in itself, right? Hermione wasn't exactly up-to-date on her knowledge of magical law, not since Umbridge's reign, but she found it hard to think the dark witch deserved such light sentencing.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the women engaging in actions unnatural for another other set of siblings. Hermione could see Narcissa's back pressing into the stone bench, Bellatrix unrelenting in her erotic assault. Between her own legs, she felt herself wet with taboo desire and she had to tear away from the window. The thudding in her chest only fell harder with each quick step she took down the corridor. A large black-trimmed door drew closer, just within a dozen more steps. Hermione chanced one look to the pair below and she stopped with nearly enough force to send her tripping. Onyx eyes bore back up at her, lips necking the figure who watched Hermione with a smug knowing look. It reminded her of the dream she first had upon her arrival to the manor and with that thought, she remembered why she was here.

When Hermione reached the main level, she knew she would not be able to keep herself from making a fool of herself. She reached the backdoor and immediately charmed her cloak with a warming spell. With a shaky breath, she hugged the cloth around her tighter and soaked in the heat. Snow went past her shoes now, past her ankle. It would do her no good to catch hypothermia. Fortunately, her anger was also an amazing heat source, prompting her to push off into the snow. Two sets of footprints were found where she expected, observing where she looked down from the manor's second floor earlier. A rustling whispered to her further down the path and she stopped once the movement grew louder, her back pressed against the winter-resilient hedges that hit the sisters. Hermione peered out from the side and found that she could see so much _more_ up close.

Somewhere in between their first appearance and Hermione's trek to their romantic hideaway, Bellatrix managed to roll her sister onto her back into the blanket of snow. She shivered as she imagined how the ice must burn the blonde and wondered if it added to Narcissa's pleasure. Of course, Hermione should not be thinking such thoughts. In fact, it served as another trigger for her rage. She felt like the youngest sister had betrayed her, sharing her body when she had made it clear (or at least Hermione thought so) she wanted her. Straightening her back, Hermione stepped out but only far enough that she remained hidden.

Narcissa was naked and _writhing_. The woman's pale skin turned pink as frost nipped at it, though she seemed oblivious to it. Bellatrix cupped Narcissa's sex with expertise, two fingers easily slipping in and out in a steady motion. Never before had Hermione ever heard anything quite like what came out of the blonde's throat. It sounded desperate and longing, and the jealousy that prickled in herself would not part from her. Previously, she decided to abstain from both of the sisters. The third one was non-negotiable. However, as she watched Narcissa near closer to her climax, Hermione could hardly tear herself away from the sight. Knew she should return to the manor, perhaps start to pack since she had less than a week before her departure.

That thought sobered her and before she could stop it, sorrow filled her. How embarrassing was it to feel so attached to someone, two someones, like some clingy love-struck girl. She harshly judged Lavender Brown for her obsession with Ronald, but yet here she was...a hypocrite. She did not even have the opportunity to apologize to the late student, and that grim reminder reignited the guilt she had successfully ignored since the start of her day until then. Eyes shut as tight as her fists balled and willed the feeling to go away. When she opened them, Narcissa arching into her older sister's embrace. Nothing in her stopped her from raising her wand and whispering a spell she had learned from the late twin Weasley, Fred. The ice froze the women in place, though not solid enough that they could not easily come apart. Except for the ice that trapped a wrist in place.

Casting a silencing charm on herself as well as a track-erasing spell on her footprints, Hermione felt rather smug as she ran back to the manor and away from the women. She only had been within range to hear a needy cry, followed by loud curses, but that satisfied her enough.

Draco was relatively easy to find. Though Hermione had only spent a few days at the manor, she knew part of the layout from her first horrid experience there and completed her mental map of it within two days of her second arrival. He shared the second floor with his nefarious aunt as well as his mother, though Hermione wasn't quite sure where Andromeda rested when she visited her family. She had a suspicion the woman shared the main floor with her but she hadn't been brave enough to ask. Oh, how horrified the girl would be if Andromeda took her question for something far dirtier than originally meant.

Regardless of what she thought, being near the boy helped center her. He had not changed much of his behavior towards her, lacking venom and hate, and the normalcy of it allowed her mind to clear. She wondered why Draco had that effect on her and if she thought more about it, the comparison to his mother would drift to the forefront of her mind. Narcissa had such a calming effect on her when she felt she was on the woman's good side (and why wouldn't she be?), and intimidated her at all other times. God, how she struggled to not make herself known to them, to _humiliate_ the blonde with her appearance. Narcissa and Andromeda were too hot and cold for her liking, which was her fortunate barrier that stopped her from falling completely head over heels for them.

She sat across from Draco with Arithmancy notes scattered around her like garbage around a dumpster. He proved to be a rather formidable study partner and she somberly thought about all of those wasted years spent hating each other. Though, the ending of Voldemort's war rewarded them with small graces that made it all worth it. Living life to the fullest to honor those gone. Hermione shivered over her notes and her lover's son took notice. “You alright there?” he asked politely.

Her fingers remain stuck on texts she had long forgotten about reading, then curled in discomfort at his question. “Depending on what each day brings.”

“How ominous, Granger.” Draco drawled, though slight irritation showed. “We aren't going to get anywhere with this if you can't bloody focus!”

She rested her arms behind her, idly thinking how nice it was to spend time with a classmate. Doing normal things always helped with mending her fractured mind. Hermione chewed on her lip as she wondered if she could confide in him. “Draco, have you ever loved someone before?”  
The question apparently caught the boy off-guard, his blushing cheeks that almost made her smile. “Everyone loves. Well, maybe not Him.” Draco said, his worried eyes scanned the room before Hermione could see him remember that he wasn't stuck in the past. “Why do you ask?”

Why did she ask? It certainly wasn't because Hermione was terribly interest in Draco Malfoy's _love life_. Perhaps she'd speak to Ginny about her problems but that in itself was a problem, wasn't it? Draco was here and Ginny was not, no fault to anyone's doing. Comfort is what she wanted in a place so strange and foreign to her, though intriguing nonetheless. “I wonder if it's possible to love more than one person.” Hermione murmured, her embarrassed expression hidden behind her knees.

“Didn't peg you for a romantic.”

“I'm not.” she admitted. “But I find myself becoming more obsessed with it. It's all-consuming.”

Draco snorted. “Hermione Granger in love with not someone, but another as well? I know one of them is my aunt.”

Hermione paled for a moment, but recovered quickly and offered a noncommittal shrug. “I'm not sure what I am to her.”  
“That's not what I said.”

They both fell quiet for a time, abandoning that particular conversation for the time being. She threw herself into their work, and this time she had patience to explain her work more thoroughly. The numbers appeared before them and moved magically on the papers, and once ink stilled, they wrote down their findings. Eventually, their work piled high and their books were shut once finished. The room felt warm as Hermione stood and gathered her things. She was about to bid the Malfoy heir goodbye, but the look in his eyes as he regarded her stopped him.

“I think love is never wrong and you'd be a fool to run from it. I know you're not a fool, Hermione.” Draco said, but it could've easily been a whisper with how soft his voice floated between them.

Her grip around her textbooks tightened and she felt a spotlight on her, her paranoia drove her to believe she'd been discovered. Hermione only relaxed when he placed his hands on her arms in a comforting manner. He was such a soft boy. “I'd be a fool to think that I could be loved back.” she replied shakily.

The confession brought out her biggest insecurity, as well as a plethora of other emotions. Her stomach turned as she thought about the slytherin's mother under his _aunt_ , and she wondered if he knew. She bet he did. Draco was about to voice his response when a knock came at the door. The noise came so abruptly that Hermione jumped, then stumbled into the boy's bubble. They both fell to the floor and they look at each other with limbs entangled, then smiled at each other. The heavy door squeaked open and Hermione was met with Narcissa's pristine form staring down at them with an unreadable expression. Immediately, the walls went up in her mind. She hadn't felt the woman probe, but she wanted to be safe. Nothing on Narcissa looked out of place and the energy it took to keep her internal war below the surface left her feeling drained.

“Am I interrupting something?” Narcissa asked sharply.

Hermione shook her head. “You just scared me.” was her simple reply.

The blonde looked like she wanted to discuss it further, but nothing else was said. Instead, a hand reached out and gripped hers. Hermione felt dizzy when she stood up and Narcissa gripped her to balance the girl. “My apologies. I was going to steal you for a lesson like we had discussed, if you don't mind?”

It would do her no favor to deny the woman. “Of course. I've got to drop my books off at my room first.”

A wand in a manicured hand simply flicked the heavy books away. Hermione gritted her teeth and pushed past his mother, already on the path to her office. When she finally arrived to Narcissa's study, she found it odd that the woman did not chase her down immediately. Maybe she was so used to Ronald's persistence that she found herself missing someone who made her feel wanted. They did, but not in the way she needed them to. Looking at the door, she debated going inside or not. She wasn't sure if she was allowed, so she waited for a few minutes more until Narcissa's eventual reappearance. Just as she thought, the blonde met her with a stillness in her eyes. “Thank you for waiting.” she muttered tersely.

Hermione could not bring herself to feel ashamed about her actions. She followed Narcissa into her study and felt calm at the sight of the stained glass, her eyes lingered on the dove one in particular. The cold hit her as soon as she sat down in the leather chair. Narcissa's large desk unnerved her. It reminded her of the one in McGonagall's office, well, formerly Dumbledore's office. She had sat herself in front of that ancient thing many times, whether it was receiving praise for her academic achievements or getting in trouble with her boys. She decided she missed it. However, sitting in front of the blonde was an entirely different feeling. It had another layer added onto it, as if each moment of their interactions built to something...more. Hermione watched Narcissa mimic her, blue eyes bore into her. The woman's brow was pinched in what she could only picture was annoyance. She suppressed a smug smile. Evidently, Narcissa's denied bliss had gotten under her skin. Hermione remained quiet until the woman broke the silence and her stare, admiring her windows much like she did when she first entered Narcissa's study.

“Well now, Miss Granger,” Narcissa started, her words sounded like they came from a faraway thought, “In order for our lessons to work, we will need open communication. If there's something you wish for me not to see, I want you to have a safe word.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and carefully repeated the woman. “A safe word?”

“Something you don't use common enough. You might feel some discomfort with some memories, but I will need to hear you to stop. Have I made myself clear.”

She nodded and blushed after a moment, her eyes glanced to the side and she knew Narcissa followed her gaze. “Dove?” she suggested.

“You want to use 'dove' as your safe word?”

It was hard to fight the smile that broke out on her face when she saw the amusement twinkle in the blonde's eyes. “Yes.”

Narcissa considered her request and tapped the tips of her fingers together, an action which Hermione thought adorable. When she noticed the blonde stopped, she fought to meet her eyes. Of course she had not meant to be loud, not those thoughts! It seemed like the impulsive thoughts that one might have stood out the most, presented itself more than deliberate ones. Really, why did she feel so inept around her? Forcing those thoughts away, Hermione listened attentively when Narcissa chose to speak again. “Oddly fitting, I suppose.”

Hermione swore she saw a pink dusting of the woman's embarrassment in porcelain cheeks.

“In any matter, today we'll begin with a short lesson.”

Short to Narcissa was not comparable to Hermione's understanding of the word in any sense. Perhaps the length of time was short in the grand scheme of things, but as she fought to keep prying tendrils from infiltrating her mind, she became fatigued. She surveyed the room as she took a moment's reprieve and relaxed the taut muscles that were rigid from the duress. Her partner looked winded as well, the lightest sheen of sweat she had ever seen on a person. Throughout the lesson, Narcissa had been unrelenting. Her methods of infiltration kept switching, as if the woman had several methods already pulled up like tabs in a browser, always ready in case one failed. Yet she never broke through, much to the girl's relief. She had secrets to protect, at least around the ones who could read her.

She was brought out of her mind's silent conversation when the blonde witch spoke. “Well done. I haven't seen someone like you in a long time.”

Hermione thought she sounded wistful when the words parted from those tempting lips. She cleared her mind before she came undone. “Someone like me?” she asked unsure.

“Someone who is so passionate about learning. You do so well in so many subjects not because you love each one of them, you've proven your distaste for divination,” Narcissa paused, throwing a smirk towards Hermione's way, “but because your true passion lies in the learning. Your thirst for knowledge is...”

Hating the way the woman left off, she pushed. “Is what?”

Narcissa contemplated with an unreadable expression. She recognized it as hesitation, her need for preservation battling against being vulnerable with the girl. “You're enchanting.” The statement came out like a whisper or perhaps a caress, and she was left tongue-tied. Hermione did not know what to say, but it didn't matter because in the next moment Narcissa continued. “I am utterly enthralled by you and I get so overcome by the depths of my feelings for that I, well, I pounce on you like some rowdy schoolgirl.”

It almost made her break out in a laugh at the way the woman across from Hermione seemed to be scolding herself. Instead, she settled on a smile and anyone could see the twinkle of amusement boldly announced in her eyes. Her smile faltered as her damning mind forced her to remember the events that transpired earlier that day. A curly-haired figured bent over Narcissa's pale form, skin turning pink from the cold snow's touch. She was _so_ tired and the woman had worn her out from her magical assault, but that couldn't excuse her mind slipping. One memory replaced the other to hide it, and it worked well. The moment that followed could've been soured if she hadn't otherwise. Narcissa broke out in a smile that made her heart soar, almost going as far as to say it yearned to make that expression last. She wore a smile better than anything Hermione had ever seen her in, but her eyes...her eyes reminded Hermione of something her mother had once told her. _'When you think you've found the one, you'll know it by their eyes.'_ Her heart tugged from the tortuous feeling that always accompanied love.

“Hermione?”

Breathlessly, she answered. “Yes?”

The woman lost her normal composure and looked nervous for a fleeting minute. “I hope it isn't terribly awful of me to steal you away one of these days before you leave. Draco said you both were due back the sixth.”

“Quite unfortunate, isn't it?” she asked. Embarrassment immediately crept up her neck. “B-but steal me for what exactly?” Clarification was always good.

“An outing.”

“Outing?”

“Yes, an outing with two individuals.”

“Ah.” Hermione knew she should answer, but she couldn't. Her mouth dried out long ago at the simple movement of her lover's dress which revealed a leg clad in pantyhose. After that, it had been hard to get _any_ thought through her mind. She thought her to be more of a rowdy schoolgirl than Narcissa. Still, she watched as the blonde fidgeted in her seat, obvious discomfort from an important, unanswered question. “Of course. I'd love to.” Hermione murmured.

Narcissa became elated. In a flurry of movement, the older witch curved around her desk and snatched Hermione up. Delicate hands pressed into her buttocks as they held her, then she felt them disappear once the woman sat her on the desk. Impatient lips were all over her, claiming, dominating every inch of her skin. Hermione tilted her head back as her lover pressed her nose against her head and gave an approving grunt once she inhaled. To see Narcissa become so primitive brought something old out of herself. She rolled her hips against the woman in response, her need already built up so fast from their previous interactions. “You are so deliciously bad for me, Miss Granger.” Narcissa murmured as she pulled back, her hands on supple, clothed breasts.

Hermione fought back a moan. “And why is that, Lady Malfoy?”

It was hard to miss the flicker of something _darker_ in ocean eyes, a storm that promised more damage if pressed but pleased if fulfilled. _'She definitely likes power play.'_ Hermione thought slyly. As the girl arched into Narcissa's touch, the woman sighed. Lips curled into a smug expression, but she thought it remarkably attractive on her. “Because you are everything on a silver platter, my little dove. However, there's only so much of you to share.” she answered ominously.

Knees hit the ground and Hermione felt hands remain on her thighs as the woman moved between her limbs. Her chest heaved as she watched Narcissa with lazy desire. The endearment felt clumsy, the words unused and Hermione guessed that the blonde had never called anyone that particular name before. A great debate started in her as she watched her lover press several kisses to the sensitive flesh that laid between her legs, her sex that dripped with want. Even though the sheer material of her pants, Hermione swore she could feel every groove in those lips. She felt hot air on her center as the woman exhaled sharply, then forced herself back. Only enough to remove her lips from Hermione's body.

“Touch yourself for me.” Narcissa asked, sounding desperate.

“Why won't you touch me?”

It was a simple enough question and she couldn't deny it hurt that it seemed the women had barriers in their sexual conquests. If it weren't for strong arms that embraced her at that moment, she might've felt upset enough to cry. “You're not ready. I am not ready, although you are...” Narcissa shivered. “...tempting. Perhaps it is selfish of me to wish to do everything else to you.”

Hermione blushed and as she cast her head down, a decision was made. “Put your hand over mine.” she instructed.

“What?” Figures Narcissa did not expect that.

“Please.”

A timid hand trusted the young witch and her words as it remain stuck to the other. Hermione's slowly guided their hands past the material of her pants and through the cotton panties that covered her sex. She groaned as her fingers slipped inside of herself so easily, already knowing her certain spots that drove her crazy. The weight of Narcissa's hand only aroused her more. As her fingers plunged in and out of her tight heat, her lover left marks all over her chest, fingers finessing pert nipples. Her climax was building up and quickly to boot. Something about her lover made her need so much greater, as if her body wanted to please the proud woman just as much as Hermione wanted her mind to. To impress her, to engage her. She added another finger. How embarrassing to be watched like that, but all the excitement disguised it and only added to her wicked pleasure.

“You're getting close.” she heard the woman mutter against her neck. Narcissa was experienced and Hermione wasn't as much, but she still knew the woman was right. Each thrust of her fingers made her legs shake and it did not help that Narcissa decided to latch onto the weakest point of her throat.

Hermione nodded. She couldn't speak, not now, but she supposed her pathetic whimpering sufficed.

“Release yourself.”

She almost sounded like she was about to hit her peak herself, but it was Hermione who cried out, hips rutting against her own hand like an uncontrollable beast. Wetness stuck to her hand as she removed it from her underwear and she was about to wipe it off on her pant-leg until a hand caught her wrist. Another orgasm could've rocked through her with the way her lover sucked off her excess juices, a tongue wrapped around slender fingers. “Merlin.” Hermione panted. She still couldn't believe what she was seeing.

“Just one little taste of you and I am hooked.” Narcissa remarked.

Even she couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. A small smile graced her lips as Narcissa enveloped her into a hug, much needed comfort after such a strenuous activity. “Narcissa?” Hermione asked.

With a loving peck to her lips, Narcissa answered. “Yes?”

Hermione mouthed the first syllable but it never fell from her lips. Far across the room, Narcissa's study door was thrown open. In the doorway stood Bellatrix, a mixture of fury and something unreadable in her eyes. The blonde moved in front of her and regarded her sister with a certain level of wariness. This went unnoticed by the dark witch and although she did not voice it, it showed in the twitch of her eye. Black heels clacked on the floor as she crossed the room over to them. “Well, well, what am I interrupting her? Corrupting another line, Cissy?”

As always, the voice held venom that disappointed Hermione somehow. Maybe she wished one day she'd hear softer words from the crazed Black. The younger sister took a couple steps closer to her sister. “What do you need, Bella? You know I prefer you to knock.”

“So many innuendos I could make with that, you know.”

“What is it?” Narcissa hissed.

Their dynamic would never cease to baffle the girl. Hot and cold as always. She shrunk under a gaze so hot, she might as well have lived on the sun. Onyx eyes watched her, assessed her disheveled state, and as she figured, those ruby lips turned into a sneer. “No matter, what business is it of mine to concern myself with your _toys_.”

Doubt trickled into her like poison. There was no way she'd share someone with Bellatrix Black anyways. It was best she knew her place with Narcissa if she were to ever make her choice, though it'd be hard if her oldest sister was a factor to contend with. To save herself from further embarrassment, Hermione pushed herself off the desk. She ignored a concerned look as she brushed herself off, then turned to address Bellatrix. “We have less than a week left, so I suggest you plan our time together to its fullest potential.” she held her head high.

Bellatrix sauntered over and it took everything in her to stay still, to not relive the memories of her writhing on the floor. Both in pleasure and in agony. “Your attempts to bed me will not work, Muddy.” her trademark smirk already on her lips.

Hermione pushed past her and exited the room, promptly shutting out anymore of the woman's nonsense. She ignored Narcissa's questions, Bellatrix's laughter, she ignored it all as she left the west wing of the house. Everything in her started to scream at her and her emotions ran high, pleading her to unleash her bottled emotions on those around her. When she returned to her room, her fickle heart thudded. Such a heaviness settled in her that when she sunk to her bed, Hermione wasn't sure if it would ever be possible to leave her place. Admittedly, the crazy hag had not said much, but what she _did_ say was true. She pulled the covers around her and nested way into a cocoon of warmth, her lids became heavy with the promise of sleep.

She used memories of each sister to lull her to a dreamless state. Starting with Narcissa, the jealousy lapped at her. Her hands were selfish, her lips were selfish, they all wanted to claim the blonde as their own. If Narcissa could possess her, then she wanted to possess her just as much. Everything became so complicated so quickly and her time at the manor felt like years. However, she felt herself missing it all the same. How freakish it must seem to anyone looking from the outside. After all, she was in enemy territory, one that especially haunted her. If she were to admit it to anyone, it might as well have been her- she was lost. There was no progress on discovering how Bellatrix healed her, and that particular thread took up more of her day than she'd like to admit.

The need to vent hit her harder than ever. In a swift motion, Hermione launched herself from the bed. _Ginny_. Parchment soon covered the small desk situated in the room, then ink and a quill accompanied it. Her hands hesitated on the name. Would Ginny be the best person to talk about this to? She already knew about the girl's attraction to Andromeda. Her poor lip took her assault as she bit into it, the pros and cons list hung in the air for her. She decided to write both Ginny and Tonks, although the latter letter was censored with different names. Hermione did not think her friend could deal with the girl possibly dating her mother, but she needed advice even if she had to be vague about the details.

A large window pushed open and Hermione summoned her messenger owl with a locator spell, tying the two letters to separate legs. After feeding the small bird a pellet, it took off into the fading light. Evening was upon them and soon dinner. Hermione eyed the door and locked it wordlessly, returning to the bed. Dinner did not sound as pleasant as it had the previous nights and for the first time since she arrived, Hermione did not attend. Of all the family members, Draco was sent to fetch her. The incessant knocking soon got on her nerves and she told him a simple excuse, feigning sickness from a possible non-life threatening allergy from food at breakfast. Apparently, the excuse worked and no one came to visit per her request. She knew no one else but Draco would buy the story, but perhaps they sensed she needed the space. Her arms tucked themselves into her chest in search of comfort and she wished for Andromeda loving embrace. Narcissa's strong, confident hold. Her mind wandered far from rationality and for a moment she wondered how such an embrace might feel from the eldest sister. With that parting thought, Hermione drifted off to sleep. In her dreams, she would get her answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys thought about the chapter. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but perhaps it's because I've been writing this one for longer than anticipated. As always, thank you :)


	11. Passing Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up as Bellatrix's POV for last chapter. Enjoy :)

It seemed like an eternity has passed by the time Bellatrix managed to trap Narcissa underneath her, though she had not pictured the next 'meeting' would take place in the manor's garden. There were few things in this realm that she'd claimed she _loved_. Her Dark Lord had been one of them, but more recently she found him falling further down the list with each passing day. At that moment, the look on her youngest sister's face took the number one slot of the things she loved. A warm tightness squeezed around her fingers, her knuckles pressed as far as they could against the entrance without harming her lover. Her innermost fingers curled against textured flesh and she could see the signs of an impending climax in the way that Narcissa shook, the way her spine arched under her. Her tongue swiped along her updated smile as she thought of how her sister would come undone within the next minute. All of the stress from the previous year lessened with each impassioned twitch of her fingers and the moans drowned out her fragmented thoughts.

When blue eyes hid from her, Bellatrix knew she'd won the wordless argument they were fighting about. The subject always changed with each erotic meet-up, but she found herself especially _sore_ over the chosen topic for the day. Narcissa wanted to talk about _her_ , about the disease that paraded itself around those halls. The mudblood infected every person she came into contact with and Bellatrix was not blind to it. The dark witch noticed everything, from the concern that laid in her blood-betraying sister's eyes that regarded the girl every moment she was not looking back at her, to the way Narcissa seemed to be so enamored with her. _That_ became the catalyst for her desire, to reclaim what was rightfully hers, what was _only_ hers. Obsession took over her body and she watched with morbid glee as her lover started to fall apart.

Only Narcissa never did. There was a slight buzzing sound she hadn't picked up on until that moment and it was too late to combat whatever magical presence presented to them. In all of the commotion, one single thought stuck at the forefront of her mind- that her body covered her sister's entirely and if a spell had hit them, Narcissa would be safe. However, the effects were not nearly as dramatic as what she had envisioned. The only change came in the form of a sheer layer of ice that coated her arm and nipped at her skin, but most importantly held it in place. The curses fell from her so easily that she did not even have to think of what words to choose, Bellatrix spat them all out just the same. Below her, Narcissa released an anguished cry and she would have thought her just as dramatic as she herself had been, although she pitied the blonde witch. It hadn't been her intention to rob her of that intoxicating bliss and it did not sit well with either of them. Bellatrix pulled her arm back from Narcissa's sex and found that the ice broke with a little bit of force, but it still had been strong enough to keep her from finishing her companion with just one more thrust. The mood was ruined and she dismounted her sister wordlessly, falling back into the blanket of snow with fury so clearly etched into her expression.

Her sulking had not lasted long before she felt a pleasurable weight roll onto her and leaned backwards, then pressed into her own untouched heat. Bellatrix released a groan and placed her hands on a slim set of hips, although they never lost their womanly shape in all of the blonde's years. A warm hand found her neck and she was helpless to her sister's desire. “Did I tell you to stop?” The question came out with such anger that even she flinched at its venom.

“Obviously it wasn't my fault, you brat.” Bellatrix responded, equally upset although it was quickly being replaced with the returning lust.

“You'll have to make it up to me.” It was said without question.

A smirk appeared at her lips and Narcissa pulled away the remaining fabric that presented itself as a wall between her sex and the blonde's own. “How unfortunate.”

Bellatrix sought out the fabulously large stables that afternoon. Despite its impressive size, few stalls were in use and she thought it to be a pity. Such noble beasts deserved to stretch their legs across seas of green, to be as free as their nature compelled them to be. _Especially_ the beast that waited for her in the Head of House's designated stall. The Andalusian stallion stood nearly seventeen hands tall, an impressive feat for even its prestigious breed, and it frightened inferior riders off from it. He complemented his owner in more ways than one, but the color of his coat surprisingly was not one of them.

The Black family enjoyed the hues of darker colors, but their favorite was always their own namesake. It was tradition for the first-born Black to take the first-born horse of their father's mare and without fault, each one until Bellatrix received black-coated foals. In her ninth winter, her father Cygnus woke her on a stale morning. They had crunched their footsteps into the snow and she remembered the excitement that ignited in her, how it served as her heat source and her motivation to get out of bed. She was never an early riser, even in her youth, but she would not have passed up the chance to witness the birth of her familiar.

Pregnancy for her father's horse had not been an easy one. At some point during the gestation period, Cygnus took her out on a light ride. Still foolish, Bellatrix had thought at the time, since the equine's body was already under stress enough. The mother passed right after delivery of one cream-colored foal, a boy that managed to stand regally once steady on small hooves. An event like that left a young Bellatrix feeling a multitude of emotions, receiving one of the greatest gifts she ever got as well as experiencing her first death. It robbed her yet gave her something and it was hard to regret it. As she aged, her appreciation for that sacrifice only grew with each ride she shared with her stallion. They were a true pairing, an example of how beautiful relationships between magical-folk and their lesser creatures could be, though privately (albeit deep, _deep_ down) she thoughts of them as equals. No other beast could handle her manic needs and no other rider could command such an unruly stallion.

Bellatrix saddled her horse and took off towards a wooded stretch of lands north of the manor, discarding her troubles to the pleasant roar of thundering hooves. The pale familiar acted as if he were in tandem with her feelings, his head shook angrily as his speed increased. She held his reins with a firm grip in one hand and reached out to pet his neck in a soothing gesture, one rarely used in present time. Her constant shushing and cooing did little to help, and his mood only soured the more Bellatrix found her thoughts drifting. When he started to buck his rear legs in his relentless trot, she shook out of it and cursed the animal. “Claude, you blasted devil! Get to it!” she screamed. Had she not been moving at such a high speed, she might have heard her own voice echo off the trees.

Hearing his mistress return her attention to him, Claude pushed forward with unprecedented speed. Without care, Bellatrix sang a choir of giggles as they pushed through snow-covered branches. She hadn't felt this free since she were a girl, perhaps a few years older and she'd be sold off to a life she did not want. When this line of thought occurred, she typically internally rebutted it with the excuse that she grew to love the life she was given eventually. This time, however, she failed to believe it. There were good and bad days, she supposed, but the bad immeasurably outweighed the good. Every vile act she committed was for her _lord_ , her savior. By all means, he was akin to a god in her eyes. Had been, she corrected herself. The blood may have been by his hand, but it still stained hers.

Frosted raindrops struck at her pale, hollow cheeks and she shut her eyes to drink in the feeling, of the coldness of life and death all residing in her soul. Never did it compare to the penetrating icy tendrils she felt deep inside of her when her nightmares are at their worst. Bellatrix wondered what caused them and how she could work to rid herself of them, but she suspected it was penance for her actions. Exhaustion carried in her shoulders, in the bags under her dark eyes, and its source? The damned agreement with the horrid student and her sisters. Pulling the white strands of memories from her mind already took a lot out of her, but witnessing those events decimated her. Especially when she saw Granger's horrified reaction.

Her hands tightened on the reins, shaking in breadths of centimeters so subtle in its quake. How the mudblood stirred those feelings that abruptly bothered the dark witch, and she could not stand to investigate their source. Sickness quelled in her stomach as she remembered how flushed Granger appeared when she happened upon her sister's study, then took off to break her tension. She reckoned a ride would suffice. Bellatrix scowled at how Narcissa had stood in front of the disheveled girl, as if protecting her, and felt tiny pricks of jealousy in her heart. Had she not satisfy the woman enough that Narcissa sought out _that filth_ to see to it? But she reminded herself that it did not appear as if her sister received anything in their little session, which only strengthened her disdain for the young witch.

There was a certain quality about that Granger that made her adhesive, sticking to every surface of her reality. She couldn't escape that arrogant, know-it-all mouth, not in her own home! An intrusive thought shoved its way to the forefront of her mind, revealing how attractive she found her. Then came the shame and the loathing, and the arrival of the emotions held elitist ideals. Oh, how the wretched girl lit fires under her heels! She occupied Bellatrix's thoughts more often than she'd admit to herself, and she would prefer insomnia from those lingering nightmares than to deal with Potter's bratty sidekick.

That name brought so much pain to her shattered heart that it nearly knocked her from her speedy beast. Bellatrix remembered firing the spell that pushed her cousin backwards into the veil. _'Why would those numpties even have something like that out?'_ she thought bitterly. An inkling of _something_ filled her, chilled her more than the January air around the horse and its rider. The Dark Lord always allowed her to watch when he took over her body. She had felt the wrath of his _Cruciatus_ curse before, but it nearly lost its slot to how horrible it felt to have another possess one's body. The infiltration was parasitic in nature and bonded two together in such a way that she lost herself. He spared no room for _only_ Bellatrix, and thus she began to only know herself adjacent to him. After all, she did not exist without him.

Claude seemed to notice the change in her mood and slowed his pace as they arrived at a creek-bed, signs of game imprinted in snow nearest to a bubbling brook still in action despite the weather. Bellatrix dismounted the giant equine and shoved her hands in deep pockets of her emerald robes. Having not owned any other color since 1976, she had to borrow the clothing from her youngest sister. She hadn't known what came over her and told her sister (who had looked rather ill from shock at the request) that very same thing. Something about Bellatrix changed with the arrival of the Granger girl. She felt more on edge than she had after her trial following the Battle of Hogwarts and that was _quite_ the obstacle to overcome. A sharp wisp of white escape her lips as she scoffed and shook her head. She wasn't sure how she managed that, nor did she understand why Potter's friend chose to testify on her behalf.

A load-bearing feeling weighed on her shoulders and a flash of remorse passed through her. That particular emotion destroyed her the most. From the very beginning, Bellatrix chose to protect children. It was a disobedience her lord often allowed so long as it did not hinder his plans. When she sent the children down to the basement after asking her dear nephew to identify the ugly _thing_ as Potter, she called him with a caress of her heinous mark. Bellatrix Black and Harry Potter were nothing alike except for one thing: they shared a connection with the Dark Lord unlike anyone else. Since Bellatrix was tied to him like a puppet on strings, he was able to still overtake her body from great distances. Of course, he attempted to bend her will and have Bellatrix torture the girl without his help. However, when Wormtail scurried down the steps to the manor's dungeon, she became shockingly belligerent. Bellatrix did not remember much of what happened until her memories started again with her hovering over the tortured girl.

Bellatrix mounted her steed and ignored the sour taste in her mouth, of ash and salt and all things too bitter to speak aloud. The ride back much colder, but adrenaline could make one ignore a great deal of things. Trees intertwined in a row and made a natural tunnel that spilled out onto a grassy knoll that bordered the treeline behind the manor. Bellatrix thought it to be its loveliest during the spring when flowers bloomed and hoped she'd remember to take Narcissa out there on a ride. The blonde witch held no love for her horse and only kept him in her care since her sister had a penchant for the animal. The thought made her smile as she stood at the lip of the tunnel, her eyes softened as she watched Draco ride his own horse out of the stables, appearing as gleeful as she first had when she set out that afternoon. The sun slowly melted into the horizon and the pink hues glittered on familiar, brown curls. Even at the sight of Andromeda failed to wipe the grin from her face. “Seems only fitting you're shoveling shit. Father always liked to punish you with that chore.” Bellatrix recalled loudly as she approached her sister, and a laugh ensued once she dismounted Claude and returned him to his stables.

Soft, brown eyes regarded her. Bellatrix did not hold the caution she found in them against her sister, for she thought Andromeda to be smart enough to recognize her as a threat. “Completely unfair, especially when you were the one that got me in trouble half the time!” she hissed, though no venom would be found in her words. Yearning tugged at her core, begged her to move closer to the brunette, so she did.

“Remember when we fed them some of the rotten pig feed by mistake?” Bellatrix asked, a smirk at her lips.

Andromeda shivered and appeared like she'd nearly retch at the memory. “We don't talk about that week.”

“It took a week?”

“I could've manured several fields by the end of those seven days with what I shoveled.”

That nearly made her vomit. To rid her mind of the horrible images she imagined, Bellatrix busied herself by looking through a closet in the stable and returned with a handful of sugar cubes. With her palm outstretched to her sister in offering, she almost forgot they were women now and not girls they once were. She couldn't find it in herself to care. “Let's stick with what you said about not talking about that week.” she mused, popping a cube into her mouth when Andromeda took some for herself.

“Told you so, darling.”

The endearment twisted her heartstrings and pleased something in her. Something that had been missing. Bellatrix sauntered over to a wooden beam and leaned against it with a lazy posture, rolling her eyes yet saying nothing as she drank in the brunette's presence. “What are your plans for dinner?” she asked, though found it silly to ask.

So did Andromeda, it seemed. “You should know, we eat together almost every night.” her sister answered, then raised an eyebrow. “Did you bump your head out there?”

Annoyance flickered inside herself. “No, I didn't 'bump my head'.” Bellatrix mocked. She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, but a rather fun idea came up. “Why don't you, me, and Cissy break open some of our kegs and drink in the conservatory?”

“Sounds rather juvenile, Bella.” Andromeda murmured, although she sported a matching grin with her older sister. “I'm in.”

Bellatrix knew her youngest sister was upset as soon as they entered the pristine, warm kitchen. The stony hearth held a large fire with several pots hanging off a metal rod that hung between each wall, and each one was filled with various broth-based meals. Their youngest sister looked how she always did- beautiful. Her blonde-streaked hair was loose for a change of pace and Bellatrix privately thought how much Narcissa looked like her third-year self, young and real- tangible in the sense that the woman's usual emotional restraint was being weakened by something unknown. Yet powerful all the same.

In any matter, Narcissa wasn't much for cooking and found better hobbies in the written word, in potions and in healing. Something was obviously amiss when the blonde witch started to berate one of the house-elves for burning bread. “I expect better from you, from all of you!” she hissed, throwing out her arm across the span of the room. Bread with an underbelly of black shot across the room and fell to the ground with a crackling sound bounding off all surfaces in the room. Silence fell between all living and only was broken by the echo of displeased heel clacks.

A small figure dressed in a flour-sack that was patched with colorful fabric cowered under her towering shadow. “Mistress, I did not pay enough attention! Please let Hemsby punish himself!” the house-elf cried.

“You dare act as though you speak on House Black's behalf?” Narcissa coldly asked.

“O-Of course not!” he squeaked. “Hemsby would never insult his mistress's family!”

Her hands rolled into fists, flexing with a tension far deeper than a simple cooking error. “Know your place, you-”

Bellatrix was concerned, but not for the elf's sake. Her eyes darted to Andromeda and it seemed her sister shared that feeling with her. “Cissy, as fun as it watch you pummel the damn creatures, we have business to attend to.” she interrupted, stepping in between her vindictive woman and the scorned.

“What is it? I'm busy.” Narcissa waved off, but her sister's involvement was enough and she relaxed. The blonde witch turned away from her loved ones, her face pinched and scarlet in hue.

A hand with a collar of black lace fell on a shoulder which turned rigid at the touch, and Narcissa did not move to look back at her. With a sigh, Bellatrix scanned the space between them for clues. She had inklings of an answer to an unfathomable question, and her frustration grew the longer she worked to solve it. “We're stealing you away for a bit of indulgence. You've never refused our cider, after all.” Bellatrix said, grinning.

Narcissa relaxed and exhaled as if she was relieved, as if she had been expecting something worse. It did not go unnoticed by the eldest sister. “After dinner, perhaps.” she said, then turned to the brunette who was staring off into space. “Andy?”

“Yes?” she asked, tilting her head lazily to the woman.

“She's not coming, is she?”

Andromeda looked off to the onyx eyes that watched her, and they sought for further clues of the woman's strife. “I sent Draco to fetch her.” she murmured.

“I see.”

Bellatrix turned away from her sisters and took a moment to squash the wave of envy that rolled through her. In this new world, they were all she had left. She missed watching her sister grow up and even if she had run off with a mudblood, Andromeda's place was always meant to be by her side. And then there was Narcissa, who stuck by her regardless of how ill-fated the path seemed. Bellatrix dragged the woman much further than she ever wanted to. Now she had them both once more, a dark pair somewhat balanced by the completion of their trio.

Narcissa made her feel so much when she wasn't sure she could anymore, but Andromeda brought lightness and that brought her fragile soul significant relief. Steeling herself, Bellatrix spun on her heel with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Smells like it's about done. Let's sit down like a proper family at the table. Even if it's with a _putrid_ peasant.” The words felt forced, but Bellatrix ignored the feeling. If looks could kill, she would have been struck dead twice over. Both heads sharply turned to her and although neither one spoke, the dark witch knew they took offense to her speech. They continued their silence as Narcissa first stepped out of the room, tagged by Andromeda and a humming Bellatrix.

The night's dinner was most unbearably awkward one they have had since Bellatrix's return to the manor all those months ago, with her lord in hand. Draco returned with one less mudblood than tasked with and she could see how it affected _both_ of her sisters. Her blonde sister cut at various foods on her plate with precise and harsh slices, as if the woman was picturing it as her anger and lashing out in response. Andromeda was quiet, but she always was. This quiet was different though, more thoughtful yet somber all the same. It was unbearable. Bellatrix was not used to a lifestyle so mundane, so _repetitive_ , and it did not help when she was faced with silence. Part of the Dark Lord's appeal was serving a greater purpose and her role was especially active. As a young girl, she'd always dream of adventures and traveling. When she grew up, she did just that. Sort of.

The final straw came in the form of Draco's mentioning of the Granger girl. He had launched into a discussion about his study time with her when his mother asked about her absence, albeit far late in its recognition of topic. She listened with an attentive ear and admittedly found herself impressed by Granger, and how the gryffindor understood Arithmancy to a higher degree than would be expected from such a young witch. There were a number of things about her that intrigued Bellatrix, and the Black sister pushed away the thoughts. They would do her no good to dwell on anyways. “...and she's surprisingly not that terrible to work with. She's smug, but she's got good reason to be.”

“Quite fortunate that your father is in Azkaban. Dear Lucius wouldn't have much to say about his boy being outdone by Granger.” Bellatrix commented, smacking her food as she ate in way that was grossly unbecoming of her status.

Draco grimaced as he watched his aunt devour the poor carcass that ended up on the woman's plate. “I don't care what my father thinks and for that matter, I don't care what _you_ think either.” he spat. “Why does she bother you so much? We held a party open to all kinds of people and you were fine, yet the mere mention of Hermione sends you into a fit!”

“Sweetheart, do not antagonize your aunt.” Narcissa murmured, halfhearted.

“No!” he yelled, striking his fist against the wooden table. “It's not fair! Hermione is helping her and she can't even be grateful for it.”

The chair scrapped against the ground as Bellatrix stood and pushed it back. _'Insubordinate, miserable little bastard!'_ she thought internally. Something pushed in her and told her to correct his behavior, her wand hand itching as she felt a flicker of horrid desire pulse through her. It wanted her to hurt him, and she never felt more betrayed by herself. “I'll be in the conservatory when you both are finished here.” Bellatrix stated flatly. She should have moved after that, but another thought kept her and she regarded her nephew with slight guilt. It did not show, however. “Continue to talk to me like that and even your mother won't be able to help you, boy.” With that said, she left.

When she arrived to the room with glass walls, Bellatrix called several house-elves to deliver her two large barrels of wine brewed by the finest witches of the United Kingdom. The Black sisters themselves, of course. The conservatory mimicked the greenhouse, although the multitude of plants hung from the ceiling decoratively. The room was charmed with a double-sided window effect, where outsiders could not see in but those inside could see out. All in all, it was perhaps one of the most visited with couches broken in and evident of common wear and tear with use. Unlike other rooms, the style was more contemporary, more fitting for someone of Draco's age rather than her own taste. Still, Bellatrix liked to come there and drink herself into a stupor with Narcissa. She felt some form of excitement of sharing a drink with Andromeda and perhaps it was because it was something akin to a rite of passage. The brunette had left their family home before she could even get the change to peer pressure her into some underage drinking.

A stack of pillows covered the entirety of one corner and Bellatrix fell back into them without care, sighing as she pulled her necklace off. A miniature corkscrew bottle hung from it and she removed it from the cordage, then uttered a spell to force it to grow in size. Once the magic fizzled out from its completion, she ripped the cork from the large glass bottle and turned the tap on one of the kegs. Translucent, purple fluid flowed from it and she found it a suitable meal replacement as it sat on her stomach. Halfway through her bottle, her sisters arrived and appeared to be in slightly better spirits. Bellatrix took another swig as they poured their drinks and sighed dramatically, followed by her trademark pout. “Took you both long enough.” she complained, then drank some more.

“I expect you to apologize to Draco tomorrow.” Narcissa coolly responded, then sank into the couch with ease. “You have no right to talk to him like that.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and her growing inebriation filled her with warmth. Even her pallid cheeks were tinged with a flush associated with the cider. “Oh please, it's not nearly as bad as what Lucius used to tell him.” she mumbled, avoiding the blonde's gaze and instead watched as Andromeda took a seat across from Narcissa.

“I expect better from you.”

The statement pierced her and left her hurting, but nothing gave away her internal pain. “You always have.” Bellatrix answered quietly. Narcissa stared at her and she could see the conflict that raged in them, stuck between wanting to be mad at the woman and then feeling _pity_ for her. Bellatrix turned away and finished off the rest of the cider in her bottle. With her drink refilled, she thought to change the topic and brought up Andromeda's involvement in the Ministry. The conversation never strayed to their participation to their respective sides in the war, much to her relief, and was genuinely interested in her work.

Her sister slowly opened up the more questions Bellatrix asked and she started to experience a newness that was so familiar at the same time. It felt like she was home. The heat of the room mingled with the warmth that rested in her lower abdomen, desire asking her to vocalize its appearance. Both of her sisters spoke loosely, with Andromeda slurring more so than Narcissa, but the youngest always held her alcohol the best out of the three. It surprised Andromeda when her sister asked about her daughter, Nymphadora, and surprised her even more when she addressed her offspring by her name rather than a slur. “She caught a nasty hex during the Battle and she's been healing from it, but it's a steady process. You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but she carries her pain well.”

Swallowing hard, a hesitant force prompted Bellatrix to seek out her sister's gaze. She froze when Andromeda returned it with a whirlwind of emotion, dark clay eyes that glossed over with unshed tears. “Sounds like a Black to me.” Bellatrix replied. Her acceptance was tentative and perhaps that was why neither sister pressed their burning questions so evident in their stares, but she knew they were happy with what they could get. It was more than she had ever given before and Bellatrix wondered what had changed. She'd claim it as her allowance of half-bloods, given her former master was one. If she were honest with herself, she knew she only wanted to surround herself with family. Even as her ideals were still cemented in ill beliefs, they slowly grew less important.

They continued to drink until their hands could no longer securely hold their cups, music from an enchanted record player played songs from their youth. Bellatrix giggled as she twirled her drunk brunette sister, who sang the song's chorus with unrestrained glee. Nothing felt more right and she wondered how she could've ever denied this before. All those years wasted on a daydream, on a promise that turned soured in its intention. She pulled Andromeda into her arms and swayed with her in a slow dance, the heat emitting from her sister nearly making her purr. Bellatrix held her laughing back as she watched Narcissa over the brunette's shoulder. The blonde witch held a bottle in her arms and loudly sang off-pitch, making her sisters wince.

“She's gone, Bella.” Andromeda murmured playfully. The dark witch's nose pressed into thick, brown curls and inhaled deeply, scented with cinnamon and alcohol. One was more pleasing than the other, but it still manage cause her to become obsessed with Andromeda's perfume.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, her eyes flickered back to her dancing partner's own. “You should've seen her on her wedding night.” she teased, a hint of mirth in her words.

With a roll of her eyes, Andromeda glanced at her younger sister with a smirk. “If I had to marry Lucius, I'd have to drink the day away as well.”

“I can still hear you two.” Narcissa called from across the room, her eyes shut as she had her own slow dance with glassware.

“Sorry.” They responded at the same time and then looked at each other with fondness. They shared a laugh and Bellatrix decided to move her confident hands to womanly hips, admiring the feel of their curve against her touch. She could sense her companion's apprehension, but then Andromeda relaxed under the hold and moved closer to her.

“Andy, I-”

“I know.” she whispered, and a tension Bellatrix did not know she was holding released itself. “I know.”

One of the kegs emptied by the climax of their small gathering and was quickly returned to the manor's cellar by two elves that struggled to lift it. The Black sisters sprawled themselves across the mountain of pillows, Narcissa and Andromeda engaged in an elicit conversation, much to the embarrassment of the latter. She knew there wasn't a reason to hold walls up against them, but the act was much harder said than executed and she remained quiet yet engaged. Her hand sought Narcissa's and rested their intertwined fingers on their sister's midsection, the gesture comforted her sudden shame. They laid there forever, or at least that was how it felt to Bellatrix.

In her mind, everything good about herself stemmed from her sisters and her love for them. She loved them in all of the wrong ways, where she was selfish and demanding. Controlling, even, and when she were a girl she had loved their independent personalities. Bellatrix watched the slow rise of Narcissa's chest as she slumbered, having fallen asleep during the two's conversation. Amused, the middle sister shook her head and stared at the glass ceiling with heavy-lidded eyes. “I suppose we'll have to carry her off to bed.” Andromeda chuckled, then craned her neck to look at her sister.

“I could carry you off instead.” Bellatrix husked, the desire that grew during the night finally made itself known.

Reddened cheeks hid with the turn of Andromeda's head. “Bellatrix-” she started, but was cut off by the look in her sister's eyes. The usual dark eyes were brightened with something _burning_ , a lucid need that Bellatrix had ever intention of acting upon. Andromeda hadn't received that particular look in a number of years.

“Please.” Bellatrix uttered as she slowly hovered over the brunette's body. As she leaned down, she pressed a kiss to soft lips that tasted like strawberries. Her hands gripped the plush fabric of pillowcases beneath them and sighed, hunger steadily growing.

“I can't.” she breathed, her nails dug into lace-clad shoulders. Though her statement proved false as the younger sister eagerly returned the kiss, her hands lost in the raven curls of the woman above her.

A whimper escaped from Andromeda's throat as Bellatrix bit down at the base of her neck, a tongue gently lapping over puncture marks. “I'll take care of you, Andy.” she whispered, her nose trailed the outline of a perfect jaw. “I promise.” Such a statement was rarely said, especially by the dark witch, but she needed the woman to trust her, to look at her the way Bellatrix looked at her. The brunette's resistance slowly wore down, neither vocally or physically denying her want. For so long, Bellatrix missed a huge part of her and she wondered how she survived without it.

Whether it was a trick of the moonlight or not, she saw _it_ in brown eyes. Bellatrix saw the love that shined proudly as it did the day Andromeda left, although it was accompanied with need in place of sadness this time. They held a secret confession and it meant everything to her, to them. Narcissa remained motionless, but she had noticed the rapid chest fall. As she turned Andromeda on her stomach and yanked her skirt up, Bellatrix watched blue eyes timidly open behind curtains of sleep. Bellatrix kept her gaze on the blonde's face as she brushed gentle fingers over clothed, sensitive flesh. Andromeda arched back into her hand and groaned quietly, eyes shut as the eldest sister pulled her underwear to the side and plunged two fingers into her with ease. A lewd smile rested on Bellatrix's lips as she curled her fingers, intent on converting her sister into a mess.

Narcissa watched as one sister dominated the other with fascination, her own sex dripping. She would have to wait until Bellatrix finished her ministrations. Each thrust was fueled by an apology for every act she had ever committed against her sister, by her love for Andromeda. Her other hand held the woman's head down as her fingers pounded her with unrelenting force. The sight of Narcissa starting to touch herself only encouraged her more. Without warning, she felt wet walls tighten around her fingers and knew Andromeda was close. Bellatrix leaned down and moved her free hand to grip the woman's throat, pressing hot kisses to her jaw.

Inside of Andromeda's tight sex, she flicked her fingers against one specific spot and the response was immediate. Hips jutted in short spurts as her orgasm erupted like a volcano, her face buried into the pillows as she screamed. When Andromeda calmed, Bellatrix removed her fingers and observed how the slickness coated them. She hung them out in the air expectantly, and in the next moment pink lips closed around them. Narcissa sucked the pale digits until no taste of her sister remained, releasing them with a pop of her mouth. “Good girl.” Bellatrix managed, her own arousal had grown too prominent to ignore.

She was rougher with Narcissa this time she took her, but the blonde did not mind. They knew each other and their bodies more intimately, and it was not long until Bellatrix had pushed her past the same point as Andromeda. With the two witches thoroughly pleasured, she returned to the comfort of the pillow mountain. Her mind kept her up even as her sisters fell into a sleep, both snuggled into each other. Bellatrix allowed herself to smile as she watched, and thought about how foul their breath would smell in the morning. She stroked Andromeda's hair and fought to keep herself present as anxiety prickled at her heart. As a Black, her promises were worth more than all of her generational wealth and she had every intention on keeping the one she made to her sister. If she lost the woman again, she might never recover again.

A protective arm stretched over the brunette and Bellatrix shifted closer. An unknown presence of _something_ bothered her sleep and lashed out at her. It was as if her mind were a separate, judgmental entity, notably enraged by the subtle changes in her heart. Her grip around Andromeda tightened and she tried to steady herself, her breathing becoming light and quick. Bellatrix shut her eyes and buried herself in her sister's scent, willing the feeling to pass. As time marched on, exhaustion took its toll on the eldest sister. Sleep began to encumber her thoughts and she saw the last glimpse of white as her word faded into gray. In the abyss, Bellatrix imagined an impressive ivy-covered home with autumnal leaves blowing in the wind.

She recognized it from a past hoped for long ago, one ruined by familial obligation and prejudice. Her hands brushed against the metal gate that stood between her and the manor, then pushed it without further hesitation. As she stood at the door, Bellatrix felt a warmth in each hand. Her sisters stood by her without a sound and she found it strange how still they seemed. Reassured by the presence of her companions, she moved her hand to the doorknob and turned...then nothing. The door did not budge and she grew irritated. There was an overwhelming sense of promise that laid behind it and she couldn't access it. She screamed at it, hit it, pleaded with it. Still, it did not budge. Those placating hands found her again, rested on her shoulders when she crumbled to a heap on the floor. “You have much more to go, but you've come so far.” she heard the blonde murmur.

From the woods came a cry, most akin to that of a infant's although it was hoarse and lower in pitch. It terrified her and she fought to keep her gaze on the door, struggling as every part of her wanted her to look back. _'Don't.'_ her body told her. So she didn't. Her sisters acted as though they did not hear the incessant wailing and it unsettled her more, since the infant's cries pierced the area so clearly.

“Don't lose hope.”

“You are so strong, Bella.”

“We love you.”

The last three words did not come from her sisters and Bellatrix snapped her head, quickly looking for the source. The voice was familiar but she could not pinpoint where she had heard it, only that she had at some point in her decades of living. It sounded compassionate, honest, intense, and it frightened her. However, she knew she could trust it and its honeyed words, even if she couldn't trust herself at some points. Bellatrix continued to search for ways inside of the home, even trying to use magic in the dreamscape (which was a fickle thing in itself to do), but she wasn't meant to know what lied behind it. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it hard to write from Bellatrix's perspective, but I hope it pleases you all! Next chapter, we'll pick up where we left with Hermione's POV and you can expect more cross-interactions. One hint: Draco and Bellatrix bonding. Thanks for reading!


	12. Turning of Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter truly got away from me in terms of length (and it was originally supposed to be a part of the previous one!)
> 
> Please enjoy :)

Mildewed latticework decorated a square section of tall hedges that held slim branches with a multitude of small leaves, sticking through the holes of the white-stained wood. In the middle of the enclosed space sat a fire pit with logs stacked on top of each other in a cone-shaped vertical lean. Crackles and hisses emitted from the burning wood, soot present around the base as evidence of prolonged use. Strong scents of pine and musky earth hung in the air between the two chilled bodies that occupied the seating parallel from each other. A grimace stuck to the blond boy's face as he pushed the wood around with a cast-iron poker, the metal twisted in its length save for the ends. As he exhaled in the air, his breath came to life as a wisp of fading white.

Even in his own garden, Draco Malfoy dressed professionally. His cloak was a shroud of darkness and under the fabric he wore pressed robes that were nearly as dark as the layer above. Even his shoes were polished, although snow flaked over the brown leather. The boy liked to keep his hair short, Hermione noted, as she watched him. Blond locks curled around the pinked lobes of his ears, the longest she had ever seen on him, but she knew he would have it cut soon. She found him pushing strands back in annoyance more times than she could count on her fingers. As she studied his face, Hermione compared it to his mother's. It wasn't like the girl could _help_ herself; Narcissa may have well as copied and pasted her genetics onto Draco. There were blatant differences, but subtle ones too. The mother-son duo could slip into masks that hid how they truly felt, a defense mechanism against anything that could hurt them. After all, if all one could present was indifference then what use would they be for else? Both could certainly be hot-headed at times, but Draco tended to be more vocal when upset whereas his mother was more reserved.

The more Hermione thought about her blonde lover, the more her stomach came under attack of winged beasts. They fluttered in tandem with her increasing heart rate as her thoughts turned into fantasies. She imagined Narcissa's full lips, her lovely hooded eyes- a genetic signature of a Black. The form-fitting, upper-class robes that her lover chose to wear on a daily basis hardly left anything to the imagination. Before her tryst with Andromeda in the library, Hermione had never experienced such level of intimacy with another person. Narcissa was an obstacle in some matters. She wasn't sure whether she could handle more than one partner. For Merlin's sake, she hadn't paid much attention to dating in her earlier years, but it had to present itself at some point. An invisible weight rested over Hermione's idle hand and the touch felt as soft as rose petals, causing a pleasant chill to run up her spine. It was as though the one who occupied her thoughts sensed Hermione's turmoil and sought to comfort her, even if it came in memory of the familiar feeling.

By contrast, the sudden thought of Bellatrix _claiming_ those lips tore her apart. Hermione shot up in her seat with a rigid posture and her companion eyed her with a question she knew would not fall from his lips. Her eyes fell to the flickering heat and she felt that same fire in herself. If she let it, the fire would consume her entirely. A day had passed since her private lesson with Narcissa and to say she had been avoiding _any_ family member besides Draco would not prove false. For a gryffindor, her bravery admittedly wavered after her meeting with Narcissa and Hermione never quite recovered. There was a certain way to deal with the three sisters, but she had not found the most effective one yet. She cursed the bonds that tied her to them, emotionally and physically. Her hand sought to soothe her arm but retracted once realizing again, not for the first time, that her arm was as blank as the day she was born.

When she decided the following day to forego congress and opted for solitude in the manor, Hermione visited the ancient library. The search for the answer to her pressing question became more fruitless each hour that passed. By sunset, she abandoned her search for the day. The girl was not invincible, she knew that herself, but it would not leave her thoughts. Just as she had obsessed over the crude markings etched on her skin, so was she with its disappearance. Doubt never was an easy feeling to assess for Hermione. She had been so sure of who Bellatrix Black was- an evil yet frighteningly curious subject with no redeemable qualities. Now, she hesitated to form an opinion of the wicked witch. Hermione's generosity extended past what most would think a proper boundary and it twisted her loyalties. Harboring so much guilt over her concealed betrayal of her friends, of her _family_ exhausted her, and she decided to forego dinner that night _again_. Her hostess must have been displeased by it, she surmised. After all, the next morning Draco invited her outside under the premise of 'getting to know each other' in his words. It was foolish to think she could continue to hide in their home and admittedly rude to an extent.

“You can talk to me, you know. I won't going running off to my father.” Draco started, his scrunched into an expression of uncertainty.

Hermione briefly paused before responding with, “I appreciate that.” A polite yet aloof statement.

He seemed to think so as well, a flicker of annoyance crossed the blond's face. “What exactly made you sick the other morning?”

“I'm sensitive to almonds.” she explained, the answer fell easily from her lips. “I didn't realize one of the breakfast tarts were made with any.”

“My mother asked if you had reactions to any food and you said no.”

She couldn't catch a break. “Well, I've had a lot on my mind recently, Draco. Like I said, I wasn't aware the bloody pastry was made with any. It must've just slipped my mind.”

It wasn't the worst excuse nor was it entirely untrue. To a certain extent, Hermione _was_ allergic to the nut but only enough to feel an odd, scratchy feeling in her throat. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but she had to exaggerate her reaction to it. Draco eyed her with suspicion, but his residual reluctance turned to acceptance. The two fell silent again, the wood splitting under the stress of the fire's assault and hissing tension between them. He rubbed his jaw and glanced at her with such an intensity that it made Hermione uneasy. Was her turmoil so transparent? “You've upset my mother, Hermione.”

The words impaled her heart. “How?” her voice sounded far too soft, in her opinion.

Though she discovered the Malfoy heir to not be a complete arse, his attitude was not her favorite thing about him. He could still be as childish and sardonic as he was as the boy she knew at Hogwarts, and part of her found it to be comforting to some degree. Not in her current predicament, however. “How, she asks.” Draco muttered, but she heard it and scowled at him. “I suspect you to be the cause of it! Don't you act like you could even begin to understand my family.”

The reprimand struck her like broken glass, shards piercing all penetrable parts of her ego. Hermione looked away and felt the stiffness spill into her shoulders. “I didn't mean to assume, I'm sorry. I just...” she trailed off, sounding as far away as her eyes appeared. “I don't know what to do.”

His demeanor softened and it almost made her wince, but she remained frozen. She didn't deserve his pity. “What do you mean?”

Her hands gripped the ends of her jean jacket.

“Granger?” he tried again.

Delicate, scarred knuckles turned as white as the snow around them.

When Draco said her _name_ , Hermione became a beautiful storm. A tightness formed in the girl's throat as her shoulders shook, and only one quiet, strangled sob escaped from her lips. They suffocated in the silence that ensued. “Hermione?”

Like a dam breaking, tears flooded her face. Her eyebrows pinched in distress as she turned to look at him, red-faced and broken. “I'm a terrible person.”

Despite himself, Draco scoffed. “Come off it. We both know that isn't true.”

“I am. I'm betraying my friends, my parents, _myself_ the longer I stay here.” Hermione repeated, and it was what she had been thinking about herself since she accepted their offer to stay at the manor. The words were an affirmation of how vile she became, but what surprised her was her inability to silence her continued rambling. “No matter what I do, I know I'll end up disappointing someone I love.” Regret filled her immediately after.

“And you love my mother?”

He sounded accusatory and she didn't fault him. After all, how would she respond if the roles were reversed? Her heart immediately agreed with the boy, but her mind hesitated. When Hermione caught herself staring at him throughout various moments during her stay, a fondness for him grew too, albeit in a platonic fashion. Silently, she cursed the blasted sisters of House Black, damned them to oblivion, for the warring emotions. “All of you are dear to me and I am the worse for it.” she whispered, her hand clutched at her chest.

Draco crossed the distance between them at once, though made no further movement other than sitting beside her. Was there anything he could say to make her feel better? Hermione did not think so. With a sharp exhale, she leaned back against the cold stone and shut her eyes. She kept them close even as he spoke. “I know you are involved with my aunt, so it's all a bit...unprecedented, isn't it?”

“One could say that.” Hermione replied easily.

“Before I saw the way you looked at Aunt Andy,” he paused, his gaze critical, “and now I suppose my mother, I never would've thought you fancied witches.”

The lighthearted change of topic eased her suffering, even if it were just for a moment. “I never wanted to give the impression that I did. It's hardly accepted in Muggle circles and I wasn't sure how the wizarding world would take it either.” she admitted quietly.

To the girl's surprise, a pale hand took hers into it. Hermione's skin crawled as Draco stared at her, if only because he looked so much like Narcissa in that moment. “There's a lot to be said about my family, I understand that, but I also know my aunts and my mother would fight to their deaths for me-” her heart skipped a beat as he paused,“-and it seems for you as well. Well, maybe not Aunt Bella.”

Hermione's melodic laugh penetrated the tension between them and she thought his words to be exactly what she needed to hear. A reassuring pressure tightened around her hand and it was further proof of acceptance. Baring soul and all, Draco Malfoy accepted something she herself could not, but maybe she eventually could. “Of course not.” she said, then offered him a wry smile. It did not stay long, disappearing at the arrival of her next thought. “How do you feel? I mean, about _that_.”

For a moment, he considered her question. Seconds stretched on into what felt like an eternity until the boy cleared his throat, though it did not dispel the tension held in her shoulders. “I think if you can find any sort of happiness after,” he swallowed thickly, “everything, well...I say you should hold on to it.” Draco replied, and when she looked at him, she didn't see the boy she punched in her third year. She did not see a pureblood, an ex Death-Eater, or his father's son. They were pieces of him, but he was not a sum of his parts. He was simply Draco and perhaps only that mattered.

“So...” he started, faltering at Hermione's quirked eyebrow, “Does this mean you're coming to dinner tonight?”

The sigh escaped from her before she could catch it. “Do I have a choice?”

Even though she did _not_ want to attend, she felt her spirits life when Draco smiled at her. “No, but I thought I'd ask anyways.”

“Is she...” she started, then frowned and tilted her head down. Both Andromeda and Narcissa had done so much for her, and there was still part of her that felt a child-like meekness at the thought of facing them both. “...Are they angry?”

Draco watched shoulders drop when he shook his head and offered his hand, pressing his palm into hers. “Not at you, I believe. They took to the conservatory the night you started your disappearing act.” he replied, though she thought it odd for him to produce a smile at that moment.

An invisible layout of the manor hung out in the air in front of her and she tried to place that particular room, but came up empty-handed. “I'm not sure if I've been there yet.” Hermione commented. “What were they doing?”

“Drinking, I'd wager, and you wouldn't be able to find it anyways- it's charmed with family magic. That said, you'd have to be with one of us.” Draco murmured, sifting through the fire before tossing the metal poker to the ground.

Neither of them spoke but watched the flames struggle to climb the air, stuck to the deteriorating wood that broke apart under its intensity. When only glowing embers were left, the two decided to return to the building. Hermione lagged behind the blond boy, her eyes focused on the distant horizon. Another day lost, another day that she could have been working to help the sisters with their hellish one. The sky mingled hues of yellows and pinks, with the nightly indigo and blue that would soon overtake them. These were the moments where she found her peace and a reminder that her problems were much more insignificant than she thought. In a matter of days, she'd return to Hogwarts and there she would find clarity. She was sure of it.

She liked that Draco waited for her. Of course, Harry and Ron did too, but those boys were never quiet. Although it took an (almost) involuntary commitment to an agreement, Hermione was glad she found someone who could enjoy silence as much as she did. There were numerous things to like about him, especially now that they weren't pressured to act a certain way around each other. They entered through the kitchen and he took her coat, folding it over his arm in a gentlemanly fashion. House-elves stood on rickety stools that surrounded all sides of a long chopping block, mixing bowls in front of each one with toothpick-thin arms whisking as fast as the poor creatures could go.

Behind them, Hermione spied a crown of blonde-streaked hair and her hand twitched beside her pocket where her wand rested. She wanted to disappear into nothing if it meant she did not have to face the woman so soon. Luck would not have it, she surmised, as Narcissa turned on her heel and caught her gaze. How could she be so _**reckless**_? When those blue eyes found her, Hermione could see everything. The woman's jaw tightened and her legs would've given out if Draco hadn't gently pushed her forward. “Evening, Mother. Look who I found!” he playfully chirped, though he glanced at Hermione with concern. “Now you can stop asking me about her.”

The teasing fell flat as the maternal witch whipped her head to him. “That's enough.” Narcissa stated, and although the words were cutting, they weren't meant for him. Draco knew this as much as she did and only nodded, then placed his hand on his mother's shoulder and squeezed. “There are some clothes needing to be put away in your room.” With that, he left, and only the elves and the witches remained. Hermione felt responsible for the way the woman felt, or had been feeling. She could not wrap her head around the fact she made someone feel so strongly about her, and not only one but two of them. The older witch continued to move around the kitchen with purpose and left Hermione to hug herself until she found the courage to push for a conversation.

“Narcissa?” Hermione tried.

“Yes?” was the flat reply.

Moving forward, she took a step. “Can we talk?”

Narcissa stilled and ruined the flow of her movement, but she couldn't she the woman's face and wondered what she was thinking. Slowly, the blonde turned around to greet her with such flatness, Hermione briefly thought there was nothing there. Though Narcissa didn't know it, those eyes of hers would always betray her. The girl cried out to her, but not a single anguished note erupted in the room. It was then she noticed the tightness of her shoulders, the slight trembling of her limbs as the thought of her lover denying her was almost too much. She held no clue as to what the woman was thinking but she felt the tension leave her body when Narcissa gave her a curtly nod.

Before Hermione could speak further, the woman swiftly exited the room and she followed after her. Although she were taller than her companion, if not slightly so, Narcissa was _much_ quicker than the girl. For a moment, she privately humored herself by picturing the witch as a mousy little creature with such a knack for scampering away. A small smile pulled at Hermione's lips but faltered immediately, the tension sobering her mood. The hallway stretched on like a running track, with repetitive turns that made her quickly realized she was in an unknown part of the manor. Perhaps she _hadn't_ figured the layout as perfectly as she wanted to, or had thought she had. They entered a room that almost mistook for a professional Muggle art gallery. Her eyes took in the ivory walls with green stripes every few feet apart from each other, with floating candles hanging in the air and portraits were filled with various subjects like landscape and people. The room voiced a dull roar due to the magical shuffling of some portraits but oddly enough, Hermione found that some did not _move_. She thought it peculiar, especially for a pureblood household to have such mundane art, but those questions would have to wait.

Heels clacked with purpose as they past rows of columns and arrived to a rather old-looking sofa, its fabric a rich velvet green with wooden accents. On either side bordered wooden end tables, both holding a multitude of books that related to artistry within the magical world. Narcissa sat down and continued to face forward without sparing a glance at her, and it made her feel all the more anxious. Hermione wondered if she felt the same way. She turned her head and thought of several different routes to talk to her, but Narcissa had a way of making one small and insignificant and she did not want the possibility for the woman to make her feel such. “I saw you...in the garden.” Hermione whispered, her head down-turned as she confessed. She chose the honest route. “With Bellatrix.”

“I know what it-”  
“No!” she exclaimed, then hopped from her place and spun to face the woman. “You fucked her and then you fucked me!”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes and gracefully stood, causing Hermione to take a step back every time she took a step towards her. Her back pressed flushed against the wall as the witch caged her and mimicked the same pressure to her front. “You will not curse at me, Hermione Granger.” she murmured as her eyes fell to worn lips, caused by the girl's incessant worry.

It made her feel sick. She didn't wanted to be _wanted_ by the woman, not in this instance, and she struggled to move but Narcissa held her in place. “I will say what I please! You invited me as a guest to your home, but is this how they're treated? I never should have come!” Hermione argued, raging against the hold. The grip did not slacken and she tried to appeal to the woman with her scorned demeanor, but Narcissa was blanking and this time, Hermione couldn't understand the emotion in her eyes.

“Don't leave.”

The plea was utterly heartbreaking.

She observed the strong hands on her, noted how polished nails were not dug into her skin, and Hermione knew she was safe. It was harder for her feelings to grasp that. In that moment, she also realized that the woman was giving her an out after all- with her words. She shut her eyes when she felt lips on her, and she _almost_ gave into it, but she couldn't. “Narcissa, you're hurting me.” she whispered, a lone tear rolling down her cheek.

The change was instantaneous. Her companion immediately freed her and spun around, crossing the room for some much needed distance. Hermione could hear the uneven breathing, could see the hunched figure holding herself up by her hands by a windowsill. The girl's footsteps were much lighter and nearly soundless, but they still filled the silence with a pressure almost unbearable. Her courage wavered, but her hand found its way to rest on the woman's back. “I'm sorry.” was the reply, and although Hermione felt a pang of vindictive pleasure pulse through her, it did not compare to how she felt about the witch.

Hermione had never been much for comforting, not her fellow schoolgirls nor was she prepared to do so for Narcissa. She simply did not know _how_ to but she tried, her hand gently brushing back the blonde streaks that hung loosely. Slowly, the woman turned to her and her resolved flew out the window. Tension held in a jaw so sharp, it could cut and it did in some ways. Tears gathered in eyes that had went so long without shedding that perhaps the woman did not know how to cry anymore. Though Narcissa's did not fall, her own did. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against her lover's and tried to ignore the startled gasp that fell from the witch. That was her biggest fault- she could not ignore things that tempted her so. She was addicted to the thrill that came with scurrying around the castle's corridors with her boys, or the thrill of riding a wounded dragon from a goblin-owned bank. Hermione had a penchant for danger, putting herself to the cliff's edge to see how much the ground had decayed, and if it would give out to bury her at sea. She opened her eyes and as she stared into blue depths, she leaped.

Lips came together in a slow, passionate kiss. She did not understand why she felt relieved that the woman reciprocated. Hermione felt a hand entangle itself in her unruly hair and she sighed, breaking away before the desire burned too greatly. Those lips should be put to better use, like voicing what needed to be said. “I-I can't be with you if you choose her.” she muttered, pulling back to search her companion's face.

Narcissa did not immediately reply, but Hermione noticed the lump in the woman's throat that she so desperately tried to swallow. “I need you to trust me, Hermione.” she said, holding the girl in the familiar grip but more retiring in its strength. “There's more going on than you know.”

“Then tell me! Don't leave me in the dark and treat me as a child.” Hermione replied tersely, but remained calm in her lover's embrace.

Those arms released her and Narcissa slowly crossed over to a painting that hung in a secluded part of the room, though nothing about it was particularly remarkable to the girl. In fact, any observer would likely pass by without so much as an acknowledgment of its existence. Hermione followed her and looked at the scene it depicted, her eyes first captured by the horses that roamed a wildflower meadow. What was most noticeable was the small portion left unfinished in the bottom right corner, It also did not move, each horse frozen in mundane watercolor and no evidence of continuous wind billowing through the foliage. They were only structured to look so, to capture a solitary glimpse of a beautiful moment. “As you already know by now, it's a muggle art piece.” Narcissa started, her voice sounded soft, though distant.

“When my oldest sister was in her sixth year, Andy in her fourth, and I in my third, our parents took us overseas to our ill-bred cousins who attended Ilvermorny in America. It wasn't just a social call, looking back on it now. Regardless, my sisters and I were left alone for most of the trip and we'd often find ways to fill the day.”

Hermione listened with rapt attention, her eyes never leaving the form of a black stallion looking towards the day-broken horizon.

“One day, Andy wanted to go this vendor market in the nearby muggle town. Bellatrix did not want to, of course, but she has a certain weakness for our middle sister. She's never told her no except once and I'm sure you can gather what that exception was.” Narcissa paused, her mind losing its train of thought before recovering.

“So here we were at this rather cheap-looking stall and Andy pulled my by the hand to get my attention. When I looked at her, she pointed to our sister and I saw that Bella had wandered down the path to a small stand where an old woman was painting. She was watching her with this look that I hardly ever saw throughout our childhood and certainly never after her seventeenth birthday.”

Her palms felt like wet sand, tension the grit and texture, and worry the moisture. Hermione wiped them off on her pant leg and grimaced, reminding herself to take deep breaths. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the woman doing the same.

“A look she got whenever she played Quidditch, or the look she has when rides that ridiculous beast that lives in my stables. You know the look, Hermione. You've seen it on the faces of your friends. A look that says you're alive and you're mesmerized by that feeling of living.”

And Hermione did know what she was talking about. She thought of Ronald's stuffed mouth with some disgusting mix of pastries and that Weasley mischief glint in his eyes whenever she'd scold him. Her next thought was of Harry's face whenever he caught the golden snitch and how young he'd truly been when he accomplished such a feat. His hair morphed into curls of regal black and his masculine jaw opted for a sharper, more feminine one instead. Hermione pictured a younger version of Bellatrix chasing and scoring goals with a smile on her face, though it was more docile than her adult's version of a smile.

Narcissa slipped her hand into hers as if she needed it for strength, and Hermione squeezed the tender part. She continued. “I knew she wanted whatever the woman had and when we caught up to her, it was _this_ painting the old git was painting. I didn't think much of it, as I've noticed neither do you-”

Hermione blushed and refused to look at Narcissa, but relented after she could see a smile start to grow on her companion's face out of her peripheral.

“-but she adored it so. I remember her asking how much would the woman sell it for. She said, 'I'll charge you nothing if you just wait 'til I finish.' I never realized how important that truly was. Bella was never a patient girl and she agreed to the woman's terms. I was quite irritated with her because I didn't want to spend all my time there, so Andy and I would wander a bit and come check in on the progress of the painting.”

The older witch lifted her hand and traced the outline of the black stallion with the ghost of her fingertips, seemingly transported back in time. Hermione's heart ached, not only for Narcissa, but for Bellatrix and Andromeda as well.

“Mother came to fetch us and Bellatrix became belligerent the more Druella tried to take her, wanting to let the woman finish. Never mind you that this was _our_ mother, and she was already upset that we'd be at such a low-class setting. The woman appeased both and allowed Bella to take the painting left unfinished. I remember her saying something else, but I couldn't tell you what it was so many years later.” Narcissa finished, and turned to look at her young companion.

Hermione moved closer to the witch and slipped her arm around her back, her hand rubbed at the tense shoulder in efforts to soothe it. What could she say? She could say what she thought, but what was that? It only served to confuse her image of Bellatrix, a kaleidoscopic mystery of a woman, with so many angles good and bad she couldn't decide between one. “Why do you tell me this, Narcissa? You responded to my question with a story.” she teased lightly.

“Bella is...” Narcissa hesitated with a sad smile, then looked at Hermione's face as if she was searching for the answer in her youthful features. “She's grey, Hermione- morally speaking. I know you don't see it, but she's trying.”

“She's been awful to me, but I'll admit...she hasn't been as terrible as I thought. Less incidents than I pictured.” Hermione replied indifferently, or appeared to.

Narcissa appeared unsure, her mask fumbling and exposing her vulnerable emotions. “Then you know she's trying. I tell you that story because I cannot answer your question. That is not for me to decide,” she paused, holding up her hand when Hermione started to argue, “because it is not mine to answer. You must ask Bellatrix, but only once you're tolerable of each other.”

The bushy-haired girl moved away and scoffed at Narcissa's words, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell that to _her_!” Hermione spat, feeling the heat stir in her abdomen.

“You can hardly stand to be in the same room as her. You're afraid of her and you only choose to be around her out of obligation to me or Andromeda.”

It was a hard truth to hear and her anger wavered, her shoulders sagged as if she were a deflating balloon. Hermione rubbed at her temple and shut her eyes, flashing back to the moment she received the Black and Malfoy invitation. “It's hard to see her as someone who cared that much about a muggle painting.” Hermione said finally, her eyes returned to the portrait.

“That's another reason why I told you that story. There is some part of her that values you, I promise you that.” Narcissa murmured, gently pulling apart Hermione's arms and slipping hers around the girl. “There are little instances that show that she's capable of it. Do you know where she kept this painting.”  
Hermione shook her head.

“Her vault.”

Her eyes widened and she tried to recall if she had seen it in the vault during the hunt for the horcruxes. She hadn't.

“As you know, she has kept almost everything she's ever cared about in it at some point. When she broke out of Azkaban and came home to me, she was still in tattered prison robes, but she had that painting under her arm.”

“She's mad!” Hermione squeaked, then smiled despite herself. She laughed when Narcissa was the first to break into a fit of giggles, and eventually the pair calmed themselves of their musing.

Narcissa nodded and tightened her arms around Hermione in a hug, her nose buried deep in her curly hair. The girl reckoned her older companion must have some kind of fetish when Narcissa inhaled deeply, and oddly seemed soothed by the act. “And that's why I am asking you to help me, my little dove. She's ill and unpredictable, and she needs someone who is willing to deal with the madness that comes with it.” she explained, then pressed a kiss to her head which prompted the girl to blush. “Call it mother's intuition if you will, but I'm sensing Draco needs me. Come with?”

She did.

When the two reached the kitchen, Narcissa materialized a coat for her from the rack that hung from the wall by the door. It smelled like spices that Andromeda wore, with hints of cinnamon infused as well. Once properly fitted for the cold, they departed from the manor and came upon a large canvas of white snow, the treeline laid many years in front of them and Hermione could see the large Quidditch trunk she'd gifted the dark witch for Christmas. Draco and Bellatrix hovered over it with a weary-looking Andromeda who stood off to the side, uninterested. That is until she spied Hermione, and in an instant she was beaming.

As they neared the group, Hermione started to hear the arguing between nephew and aunt grow louder. She stayed closer to Narcissa and she couldn't help but chastise herself, as her body conveyed the very nature that the woman mentioned earlier. Hermione was afraid for several reasons, but not just for how Bellatrix treated her. Her own emotions regarding the witch bothered her and she did not want the time she spent with her to fuel them. Instead, she focused on Andromeda who approached them a few feet in front of the bickering pair. “Hermione,” she breathed, her face pink from the frosty air. “You're alright?”

Hermione melted at the concern and it turned more to a burn as Narcissa parted from her with a smirk, moving to be with her son. She knew her own face had to look like Andromeda's and so she cleared her throat, nodding with a smile. “I'm alright, Andy.” Hermione replied softly.

The brunette nodded and threw a quick glance behind her before she encased Hermione in a strong hug, with a surprising kiss added in the flurried movements. As she pulled back, Andromeda raised an eyebrow at her young lover and examined her clothing. Hermione could see her fighting a smile. “Are you wearing my coat, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, well I, or no, Narcissa pulled it out for me to wear.” she rushed out, flustered.

“It looks better on you.” Andromeda commented, hooking her arm around the girl's and guiding her to the others.

Falling silent at the compliment, Hermione felt like the coat was too _hot_ for her at the moment. The presence of Bellatrix quickly cooled her as they approached them, though the woman did not turn to look at her. Instead, she was reading aloud from an old Quidditch manual much to Draco's displeasure. He claimed he already knew the rules, seeing as he was the seeker for the slytherin team. His aunt argued that professional Quidditch adhered to different rules. Either way, Hermione could not be bothered to listen and in turn watched Bellatrix with a curious interest. Her black curls were pulled black into a loose ponytail, but her lips were as red as ever and were curled into a smirk as she spoke to her nephew. She wore chaps meant for such a sport and tunic the color of coal, and Hermione spied the bird-skull necklace that rested against her bosom.

Her eyes snapped from the witch and she tried to suppress the indecent thoughts from her brain. Hermione felt she was no better than Ronald when he leered at girls in the corridor. She did, however, feel warm in the older woman's embrace. It was quite pleasant to her that the woman was more openly affectionate in front of others and therefore the action would not be out of her character, but she felt a snag of embarrassment as her eyes lingered on Bellatrix's hollow cheekbones. She wanted to know what Bellatrix thought of her, though she knew it would not be much. Hermione glanced between the sisters and thought about her place in theirs lives, and them in hers, coming to the conclusion that she served as a wedge that they were willing to drive between them. Andromeda seemed willing, anyways. The story with Narcissa was different. She knew better than to make the blonde sister choose between her and her own blood, and her lenience came in the form of trust. For now, she'd let Bellatrix prove her wrong.

“Can you play? You might be better than one of the elves.” asked the flat, yet sultry voice.

If Hermione could die right then, she would have gladly passed away. Now that she was staring down Bellatrix with the attention of the woman right back at her, she felt as if the snow around her would melt with how hot she burned. “I've never played before. Flying scares me.” she answered honestly.

Bellatrix hummed in response and she did not catch a hint as to what the older witch thought, and swallowed hard as her companion strolled up to her. Wand at the ready, Hermione noted. “Brave little girl afraid of _flying_? Weren't you one of the brats that road a dragon out of the Gringotts bank?” the witch questioned, an innocent expression filled her face with brows pitched in false concern.

“Right after we stole Helga Hufflepuff's cup from your vault and destroyed it.” Hermione continued, and she regretted speaking it as soon as she said those words. She saw Narcissa glower from the corner of her eye and sighed inwardly. The girl needed to get a hold of herself and quick. “I'm sorry, Bellatrix. I shouldn't have said that.”

“Pick up a broom. You need to learn how to ride if you're going to apart of this world.” Bellatrix replied flatly, moving past her and opening her old training trunk.

The bludgers bounced in the constricting chains that bound them to the trunk's lid, and Hermione felt her heart thump as fast as they moved. She wanted to argue against her wishes, but the woman wasn't screaming at her nor begging someone to take her out of sight. Perhaps the woman was trying, although she was a right arse about it. Hermione quickly walked to Draco where she saw the poor boy struggling to hold the bevy of broomsticks. She grabbed one from him and looked over his shoulder to see the sisters in conversation. “Do you ever get the feeling they're talking about you?” Hermione asked suddenly, in low tones of conspiracy whisper.

“All the time. They're like wolves: watching, waiting to strike you done. They on you in an instant.” Draco responded, though he had a serpent-like grin stretched on his face. “I'd say we're like them still.” he added.

Hermione furrowed her brows and turned her eyes upon him. “How so?” she humored him.

“We've both had a lot to hide from people, and in some ways still are hiding things. Always plotting, like moving pieces of a playing board.” Draco muttered, his head tilted away as he grew distracted. Before she could reply, a hand clasped on her shoulder.

Hot breath hit her ear as it whispered, “Come along, pet. Up and away we go!”

Then Hermione suddenly found herself lifted up into the air, screaming and clinging to the form that had switched places in front of her. “Are you insane?!” she screamed with indignation, her hands clung to the witch's robes in spite of who she was.

“That's one of the many things people called me.”

_'Smarmy bastard',_ she thought _._ Hermione rolled her eyes and shook as she bit against the cold wind that nipped at her. Below her, the others looked like tiny flecks of pepper in a sea of salt. The trees stuck out like toothpicks with needles for branches. Everything seemed so small, so insignificant. It was all too beautiful to be looked upon for long, and she made the mistake looking at the drop below her. Shutting her eyes, Hermione buried her face in the back of her companion, desperately trying to pace her own breathing.

“You have to relax. If you hesitate up here, you fall and then you die.” Bellatrix instructed, her sure hands held the hilt of the broomstick with ease. Hermione peered up at her and saw her brows knit in concentration, eyes always scanning for any potential obstacle. Most intriguing was what else she saw in the woman's expression. Her mind recalled what Narcissa had said in the family's private art gallery, and wondered if this was the look the blonde witch was talking about. Bellatrix looked more alive in the sky than she ever had on the ground below. She was suited for it, much like her friend Harry. Her thoughts were dispelled by the tapping on her thigh. “I did the hardest part for you. You need to grip the broom in three...”

The familiar sound of magical buzzing permeated the air. Hermione's jaw dropped and she held onto the woman. “Bellatrix, please don't leave me.” she begged, and how utterly embarrassed she was by the tone of her pleading.

Much to her surprise (and worry), the older witch moved her legs to one side and sat on the broom as if it were a chair. Bellatrix examined her as if she were solving a puzzle and shook her head. “You'll be fine, Granger. I'm not leaving you. You have to learn.” she said, then looked below her. “Two, one! Let's see what you've got, girl.”

With that and her trademark cackle, Bellatrix leaped from the broom and went into a free-fall, the sounds of the maniacal laughter fading the farther she dropped. Hermione watched on in horror and the scream died half-way in her throat as Bellatrix landed on a speeding broomstick. Before she knew it, the witch easily caught up to her own. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” Hermione scolded, her arms shaking as she held onto the broom.

“I've done a hundred times and I'll do it a hundred more.” Bellatrix waved off, then sat in an upright position with one hand steadying herself. “Quit shaking. Even out your breathing. You are fine.”

Hermione was further embarrassed by her state and at the ease with which Bellatrix flew. Admittedly, it was impressive that the woman was so comfortable with a fear most people reasonably had. She sucked in a deep breath of air, though her heart did not cease its rhythmic throbbing. The girl fought to keep her eyes forward, but her lunch threatened to spill out. Bellatrix watched her the whole time and she felt like the gaze was critical until she returned the stare. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she inquired.

Thankfully, Bellatrix distracted her from the height. “Making sure you don't vomit on yourself. We're going to slowly turn back towards the house.”

Her stomach lurched. “H-How?” It was unfortunate that Hermione never continued her flying lessons after her first-year class. She never had the need to, but it would have significantly benefited her now.

“Lean into the direction you want to go, but not too much. You might miscalculate the weight you put into it and find yourself jerked off your broom.” Bellatrix said, then fulfilled what she had stated. Her form leaned left and she made a perfect u-turn towards the house.

Hermione listened and mirrored Bellatrix's actions, although her turn was not as smooth as the older witch's had been. The young witch leaned forward and gained speed to catch up, laughing as her fear wavered and was replaced with a full feeling of joy. Her knuckles were still white with tension as she held the broom, but she was starting to understand why Harry and Ron enjoyed it as much as they did. She still saw Quidditch as a rather dull sport, but if Bellatrix played she might like it a tad more. The two slowed as they met the others in the sky, already having ascended from the ground. Both Draco and Narcissa wore matching looks of worry, but Andromeda looked eerily still. The way stared at Bellatrix bothered her with its intensity, and when those eyes became scarce for her own, she felt on edge. Draco was the first to greet them back. “Took you long enough. You going to be alright on your own for a game, Hermione?” he asked.

She was about to politely refuse when Bellatrix spoke up for her. “She's ready. We can use her as a Keeper.” the woman replied lazily, leaning back on weightless air. When Hermione glared at her, Bellatrix only smiled in response and took the quaffle from Draco's hands. “You three against us. We have to cut some roles so no Seeker. Draco, you and I will be chasers.”

He groaned. “I don't want to be a chaser!”

“Hush, dear boy. You can be the Beater. Andy?”

“Chaser.”

Narcissa looked as uninterested as Hermione. “And I'll be Keeper as well.” the youngest sister said, then took off towards the end of the small clearing.

In the time Bellatrix took her hostage in the air, they had set up some small, hooped pitches. Two sets stood parallel to each other and Hermione hovered in front of the middle hoop of one set, her hands clammy from the cold weather. They all got into position and Bellatrix hovered in the middle of the field, then turned her head to look back at Hermione. Slowly, a smile grew on her lips and the woman turned away. Bellatrix's hand raised over her head and she tossed the quaffle, signaling a start to the game.

Hermione was bruised and exhausted, but she shared in the dark witch's good mood. Outnumbered, they still crushed their opponents and secured a healthy, well-deserved win. The group trudged their way back through the snow, Draco and Hermione lagging behind the laughing sisters. She looked at him and wanted to know what he thought about them. They certainly looked like they fit seamlessly together. Instead of feeling jealousy, a loss slowly filled her in place of it. It was only tempered by the fact that she (and hopefully her companion too) did not despise Bellatrix's presence that day. She would go as far to say she enjoyed it. Privately, of course.

As they shook off residual snow and muck, Hermione was overwhelmed by the warmth in the kitchen and became drowsy as it wrapped around her. Her attention was captured by a tray holding bowls of broccoli and cheddar soup, her stomach growling so loudly it drew the attention of the brunette next to her. “Sounds like someone's hungry.” Andromeda commented, her playful smile put her pristine teeth on display.

Sheepishly, Hermione ducked. “I forgot to eat this morning.” she confessed, allowing the witch to guide her out of the kitchen.

“You shouldn't miss your meals.”

“I know.”

They met the others at the dining table and Hermione thought herself out of place as she stood among them. Bellatrix was the first to sit, taking her rightful place at the head of the table. Did the woman ever really consider the power of her presence? Hermione dwelt on it as she took her seat across Draco, her eyes lingering on the dark witch at the helm. The subject in question caught her staring and smiled knowingly, then broke the connection between the two. That simple _glance_ caused a dampness in her panties and she willed herself to ignore it, but it was difficult to dismiss it entirely. She shifted uncomfortably, and tried to focus as Bellatrix started to fill her their plates once the food was summoned. She murmured a thanks once she was served and risked a glance at the others before resting her sight on her plate.

Glazed carrots were her new favorite food. They were saturated with brown sugar and she was tempted to grab another ladle once she emptied her plate of them. Hermione was about to feed into the temptation as she reached for the handle and instead met another hand, pale and lithe in its form. Where her hand stilled, the other one did not. “She's a bit picky about her food and that happens to be her favorite.” Andromeda answered, the question was already prepared to fall from the girl's lips.

Hermione took a measured sip of her drink and offered Andromeda a small smile. “I can see why, it's divine.” she groaned, pleased when Narcissa beamed at the compliment. She appeared so bright and beautiful all at once that it almost shook the girl into a stupor.

“I'll only eat it if Cissy cooks it. No one else can ever get it right.” Bellatrix replied flippantly, her mouth stuffed with a mixture from her plate.

Interestingly enough, the Black sister's eating ceased to bother Hermione. If anything, it only made her pity what she must've went through to end up like that. “Never mind the food! I still think we should've won. Aunt Bella knocked me from my broom _twice_.” Draco complained.

“You didn't die, did you?”

Draco spluttered. “I _nearly_ crushed my legs!”

“You're fine.” she waved him off. They burned holes into each other until a reluctant smile pulled at both sets of lips at the same time, unable to do so without the other. “I might need to make up for all of your games I missed, sweetheart, though I doubt the Ministry would allow it.”

Hermione frowned and watched how Draco became crestfallen, nodding in agreement to what his aunt said. It was not fair to restrict someone's freedom so, but given the woman's history it was somewhat reasonable. What else could be done? The road to trust was so difficult, especially when faced with all of the obstacles that accompanied it. “Surely with eventual progress they'd permit you to-”

Bellatrix scoffed and her eyebrows were pinched in annoyance, making the girl falter. “Permit me, you say. You're-” the older witch stopped herself, then took a deep breath and continued, “Regardless, I'm not so sure.”

“They would if I asked them to.” Hermione replied, refusing to drop it. She knew she was pushing and she restrained herself from speaking further, shoveling in a morsel of food instead.

“No.”

Confusion filled her. “Why won't you let me help you?”

Bellatrix did not reply and seemed to be ignoring the girl's very existence. It was not brought up again.

The rest of the dinner passed by uneventfully. Andromeda took her leave shortly after, making conversation with Hermione up until she stepped into the fireplace and yelled, _'Lupin Household'._ The girl felt sad at the departure and lingered there, her eyes glued to soot from the Floo powder. Hermione needed to spend more time with her before the holidays were up, in addition to her blonde sister's request. And what of Bellatrix? The change in the woman's attitude that day threw all of her assumptions out the window and she had to plan her next step, but she did not know where to start. She only had three days left to figure it out.

Hermione's departure loomed on the horizon and it was a reminder of how time was slipping, rapidly so. Beyond her anger and her refusal to deal with the Black sisters, the young witch lost track of her days and she cursed herself for her reckless. Hermione was usually more refined, more elegant, but around them she lost her tact. It was just as freeing as it was damaging to be so emotionally drained, and equally overwhelming in the mix. She likened herself to a thunderstorm, with flashes of white-hot anger. The lightening tendrils would always harm whatever unfortunate object got in between hurting herself. At her conclusion, _she_ was the issue in every scenario.

If the gryffindor was challenged in any way and she lost, it was her fault for not being prepared, for being so _stupid_. Hermione prided herself on her intelligence and wit so much so that it became her folly. She enjoyed book-work in healthy amounts, but she also pushed herself more than necessary. There were many weeks Hermione would work throughout the dead night reading, obsessing over her work and crafting it to perfection. Her golden title of ' _The Brightest Witch of Her Age'_ became tarnished to her own personal self-hood as she sullied her pursuit of knowledge with the added stresses. She was a muggle-born and she was held to such high regard, a role model for other witches of her blood status.

Pure-blood rhetoric was not extinguished in the wizarding community, not even with the fall of Voldemort. There were still key issues regarding the Ministry and their policies, but things were still much better than before. At least, she hoped so. Azkaban and the treatment of the prisoners were the only thing she was concerned with, even immediately after. ' _Shacklebolt must have been so annoyed by me_ ,' she thought to herself. With a frown, Hermione spun around to exit the library, and perhaps find some much needed rest. She was met with the dark witch that often occupied her thoughts instead, and nearly tripped over in surprise.

Swallowing hard, Hermione bowed her head and then promptly held it high. “I was just saying goodbye to Andromeda. I'll be retiring now.” she said, though she inwardly cursed the way she felt she needed to explain herself. The girl moved forward but was blocked by the deadly witch's arm, creating an obstacle between her and the doorway.

“She left quite a bit ago.” Bellatrix pointed out, her onyx eyes raking over the young witch's body. “Going so quickly? Makes me think you're up to something, _pet._ ”

The grit with which the name was said made Hermione wince. “I'm not, I was only daydreaming. I'm exhausted.” she replied, a slight irritation prickling her voice.

Bellatrix's eyebrow shot up in question, her usual smirk in place. “Perhaps I should've substituted an elf for you, Muddy.”

Though it sounded like the woman was only teasing, hearing the slur hurt Hermione so much more than it previously had. It felt like everything that amounted as evidence of Bellatrix's change was falsified with the husk of two syllables. “You just can't help yourself, can you?” the girl asked softly, her voice snagged on a broken note in her question.

As she watched through the blurry windows of her eyes, Hermione saw the older witch struggle with herself. The way her angular jaw twitched with lips that mouthed unspoken words, seemingly talking to herself...or someone else. Then her demeanor returned to one of indifference, but her eyes seemed forlorn, despairing in their gleam. “It isn't an insult.” Bellatrix said stiffly, though seemingly relieved to finally get out her words.

In that moment, Hermione wondered how she _should_ take it. If it wasn't an insult, what else could it be? Certainly wasn't a compliment. Another layer of confusion was added and it was so thick that she struggled to break her mind of it. Narcissa floated to the forefront of her thoughts and she reminded herself what she needed to accomplished. She exhaled a quiet breath and regarded the woman with a cautionary stare, slowly nodding. “Alright.”

“You still need to work on your flying.”

Hermione could not help herself when she laughed. “I don't think I have anymore reasons to risk my life. Thank you for the offer.”

“I'll find you a reason.” Bellatrix insisted, her face pulled into a stern expression. Her hands were suddenly on her shoulders with a tight grip, but it was not malicious in its intent. If anything, it felt desperate.

With uncertainty prickling at her resolve, Hermione gave in. “I will make time for one more lesson before I leave,” the girl smiled dimly.

“Good.” was all the woman said as she released her hold. Bellatrix refused to meet her eyes until she continued.

“...but I'll need you to take me through more of your memories. At the pace we're going, your trial period will be over and they'll take you back to Azkaban.” Hermione finished, and she tried to ignore how worried she sounded. She wasn't, not really, nor would she admit that she was.

They shared complexities in their locked stare, both the severity and nuances of the situation laying heavily in both of their minds. Bellatrix was the first to break it with the sudden snap of her neck towards the ground, her jaw set. “Don't remind me.” she answered, and Hermione noted for the first time how exhausted she seemed. Before she could reach out and soothe- well, never mind what she wanted to do, Bellatrix scurried off to the doorway. She lingered though, and kept her body angled away from the girl. “Tomorrow afternoon?”

Hermione could taste the danger in her answer. “Yes.”

Once again, the girl was alone as her companion disappeared into the dark depths of the hallway. Stepping out of the library, Hermione looked both ways in fast succession and there was no trace that Bellatrix had even been there. She sighed as she walked the familiar route to her room and when she arrived, she plopped down still dressed in her winter clothing. Each thought of hers was occupied by the dark witch and she wanted to scream, to tear out the figurehead of her most vile and tortuous obsession. She knew what she was hiding and she hated herself more for it.

Beak against glass tapped at the window across the bedroom and Hermione rolled her body out of bed, her legs sluggish in their movement. She greeted the bird with a sweet “ _Hello, girl!_ ” and removed scrolls attached to the legs of the salt and pepper barn owl. The first was from Ginny and it was mainly filled with the retelling of the recent party and not so subtle questioning of her love life. Grimacing, Hermione sat it to the side. She could _deal_ with that later. Her fingers slowly pulled apart the next envelope and in a child-like font, Tonks wrote:

_Well Hermione, it seems you've wedged yourself into a load of trouble! (Not with my help either!)_

_Did Harry and Ron tell you they're my apprentices? I already know the look you've got on your face, you cheeky little witch. I'll have you know I'm quite professional! After all, it comes with motherhood...speaking of which, you need to come over sometime and see Teddy. Anyways, you three always get into such tomfoolery somehow. My goodness, I think Remus is rubbing off on me. How dreadful!_

_I have a feeling this is something we're going to have to talk about in person. Mother said you're helping her and my aunts. I love her, but be careful. She has a trusting heart and so do you. I don't believe Aunt Narcissa would have any ill intentions towards you nowadays, but the other one's got that Black family curse y'know! Just kidding, but I'm serious._

_I'll be visiting Hogwarts the week you return. Expect me and be well, Hermione. You know how to reach me in an emergency._

_Nymphadora Tonks Lupin_

Hermione reclined in her chair as her eyes eagerly read the text over and over. There was a quiet fear for what was to come, but she knew Nymphadora was a true confidante and that soothed her concern. Writing a reply, she fed the owl a treat and tied her message to its thin leg. She watched as it faded into the orange glow of the sunset, her eyes becoming unfocused. The wintry night felt stale in texture and her breathing released an ocean of white with each exhale. Her concentration broke and she returned to her desk, reading over the last line of her friend's letter.

She knew where the coin was, of course. Even months later, she still carried it in her pocket (and sometimes her shoe). After changing into her sleepwear, Hermione slipped into the sheets and nestled herself into a bevy of pillows with her chestnut hair sprawled across them. There was not anything particularly fascinating about the ceiling, but it helped distract her as she tried to find patterns in the stone above. She could only count so many sheep. Within the following hour, she was able to fall into a restless state of dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!! You guys are so lovely with your reviews, I love them and you all. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Bellatrix has certainly changed her tune, or has she? And for what reason? Stick around. :)


	13. When They Fall Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short-ish chapter to get back into the swing of things. enjoy

Truly nothing could have prepared the young witch for what awaited her beyond the door to Bellatrix Black's room in the manor. Hermione's feet were planted at its entrance as wild thoughts raced through her head, fueled by fear. At first, she had tried the backyard where they had played the day prior find her. She had not expected to meet the woman there, but she asked one of the house-elves of Bellatrix's whereabouts and discovered that she had not left her room all morning.

With a timid beat, Hermione rapped on the door. No answer came. She knocked again with a harder importance and then heard shuffling behind it. Her eyes peered down at the thin sliver of light that spilled from the bottom of the door, shadows flitting across it and disrupting the beam. All of the movement happened in a fraction of a second and Hermione stepped back as the door was thrown open, the dark silhouette outlined by the light coming through the occupant's windows.

The sight of the Black heir made her throat dry, and she struggled to form any coherent statement. Had Bellatrix _not_ greeted her in a thin robe with her black ringlets damp from an apparent shower, perhaps her state of address would have been better than a stuttering 'hello'. The smile Hermione received echoed her embarrassment and increased it ten-fold, its nature unfailingly lecherous. If the woman were a spider, Hermione was a fly in her web.

“Can I help you, _pet_?” Bellatrix asked slowly. The smile deepened as the young witch flinched when she stepped closer.

Her will was to cower, to hide, but Hermione stood still and refused to indulge the woman in her intimidation tactics. “Flying lessons.” she replied simply.

The smile disappeared and instead a scowl replaced it, but only for a fleeting moment before turning into a line of indifference. “Wait out here. Don't need you mucking up my space.” With that, Bellatrix left her standing at the doorway and went into a room that Hermione could only assume was the en-suite bathroom.

Despite having visited the room before, Hermione never examined it in depth. Bellatrix's room was large and expansive, though possibly modest for a witch of her status. It had a variety of literature that covered most surfaces, though the walls were bare of any decoration. The only comparison she could make was to that of a student's dormitory, but at the start of the semester when personal touches were not yet in place. Her curiosity was piqued by a worn out copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ lain upon the woman's bedside table. Her fingers brushed over the cover and she opened it, already mouthing the words she had read so many times before.

From the pages of the book to the picture frame nearby, her eyes moved in their never-ending search. Hermione picked up the photograph and saw that it was ruined in one corner, an angry tear over the face over a man standing beside an older woman. She recognized the witch as Druella and shivered as she remembered their first and _last_ interaction. Druella looked proper to perfection, with her blonde hair pulled back in a fashion similar to her youngest daughter's. She wasn't smiling. In front of them sat three girls, the raven-haired beauty in the middle with a brunette to her left and a young blonde to her right. Much like their mother, they too held grim expressions.

They appeared to be quite youthful, and Hermione thought that Bellatrix herself could not be more than twelve years old at the time of the picture, making her sisters even _younger_. She surmised that the woman did not think much of her father, and she could not blame her. Even Hermione was glad the world was rid of the man. As she sat the frame down, she reminded herself to inquire Draco for more of his family's history. Turning around, she faced the room and felt a cold sensation overtake her, senses heightened with her unsettled mind.

Not noticing it during her previous visits, she started to hear a soft ringing emit from an unknown place in the room. The sound was everywhere and nowhere at once, too soft for her to find its source, but loud enough to unsettle her. At the center of the room, she listened for the familiar tone and moved in search of the rising frequency. The feeling of eyes on her never faltered and she looked over her shoulder more than once, but each time there was no one there. As she moved closer to an ancient-looking wardrobe, the ringing grew louder but with a fog of suppression to dull its sharp notes. On its golden knobs, the initials 'B.B.' were engraved, leaving Hermione with no doubt of its owner.

Although she opened the doors with careful ease, they cursed her with their creaking. Her hands as her head shot back to look at the door. The ringing was unbearably loud once the wardrobe was opened, yet her companion still had yet to show any sign of living. Black dresses hung up and other attire was folded with an obvious lump underneath. Hermione lifted the stack of clothes and her eyes widened in realization at the sphere she found hidden away. There was absolutely no mistaking it- it was a prophecy orb.

Hermione had known it right away. After all, she could still remember the crunching of falling glass as they raced out of that room during the scuffle at the Ministry her fifth year. Curious, her hand was just within reach of knowledge, of something secret belonging to the dark witch...but the turning of a doorknob warned her. In an instant, Hermione quickly shut the cabinet doors and sped to the entrance, turning around as soon as Bellatrix reentered the space. She tried to look as innocent as possible, her eyes glued to the fully-dressed woman. Avoiding her gaze would only cause suspicion, as overwhelming as the act was in and of itself.

Dressed in her usual morbid clothing, Bellatrix's expression turned hard. “I told you to wait-” she enunciated, already across the room and advancing on the girl.

“out-”

Hermione backed herself through the threshold of the door, her wand at the ready. Her companion brandished her own and pressed it under the girl's chin.

“ **side**.”

She stilled her hand and swallowed, ignoring how the lump in her throat fought past the tip of Bellatrix's wand. “You were taking a long time. I wasn't doing anything.” she replied tersely, her gaze became hardened, and they almost dared the woman to enact on the violence promised in the press of the wood.

As their eyes locked in a heated state, Hermione started to see Bellatrix's eyes gloss over into a hundred yard stare. She herself recalled writhing under the woman's form in pain and witnessing those eyes shine in the same manner in present time. Really, it should have been expected. Tensions boiled over and it came in the form of a sneer at ruby lips, a souring so abrupt that its taste made Hermione's stomach churn. “Does that repugnant mouth tell only lies?” Bellatrix shrieked.

“I'm not lying, Bellatrix! Now stop, please.” Hermione murmured, willing herself to hold her brave mask.

There was nothing in her eyes, emptied of _everything_.

Desperate, Hermione tried again. “Bellatrix.”

Another silence met her. The press under the girl's chin began to hurt as the wand-holder pressed its tool deeper, though with a shaky balance. Her eyes dampened with moisture, but they did not spill over. What was wrong with her? Hermione's chest rose and fell with urgency as a sense of fear locked into her. She was prone to rationality and her feelings were very much not _rational_. Seeing as she exhausted most amicable options, she resigned herself to one last try.

“I did come into your room and I'm sorry.” Hermione confessed, her demeanor turned soft. When Bellatrix's wand faltered and her body tensed, the girl placed her hand on top of hers. She had to be careful dealing with the witch, especially in whatever state she was in. Pinched features relaxed ever so slightly, but Bellatrix was not yet satisfied. “You dare lie to me and now you're covering your filthy self.” she sneered, her jaw stiff and sharp in its beauty. The latter thought twisted uncomfortably in Hermione's heart.

“I'm sorry. I just wanted to-” she started, her voice was strained by a sadness she could not name.

“Just wanted to look around where you ought not to?”

It was a dangerous statement, and although it were phrased as a question, there was no mistaking that the woman already knew the answer. Hermione's head raced with thoughts in search to find reasoning for the strange behavior. Bellatrix was upset, angry – why? _'You were in her room, Hermione! Of course she would be upset.'_ she cursed herself. One excuse, but it did not warrant this violence. Bellatrix continued to tremble and Hermione compared her to a wounded owl, with eyes full of black and more surprisingly, fear. “I didn't mean to disrespect you. If you wish me gone, I'll go. I'm sorry, Bellatrix.” the girl echoed her apology. She meant every word of it.

As if the words themselves were flint and steel, it ignited the life back into the feral woman's irises. Recognition and, Hermione prayed, _acceptance_ flooded them in the stare between the two witches. Bellatrix withdrew her wand and slipped it into a charmed holster that was equipped with her dress. The charm caused the wand to slip seamlessly into the fabric and would only make itself depth appearance's upon the user's knowledge of it. Even though her shoulders felt tense under Bellatrix's stare, she secretly admired the intelligence behind such a charm. Her companion turned and all but sped to the door in a stomp, but did not open the doors to the balcony. It seemed a question was asked in the silence but it was not spoken, and any chance of speech to follow was interrupted by the creaking of the old french doors.

Exiting the room, Bellatrix signaled her to follow. She watched in horror as the woman leaped to the stone rails of the balcony and fell with arms open, looking morbidly angelic. Hermione had not heard the _Accio_ spell, but she felt its magic sizzling in the air. Bellatrix landed expertly upon the cherry handle and sped off as a similar broomstick lingered behind. The gryffindor prayed for her house's bravery as she timidly copied what Bellatrix had done, although she grabbed the broom instead of launching herself onto it like some deranged invalid.

Hermione tried to keep up with her but it was fruitless, she was _scared_ and the fear prevented her from flying at a rate faster than that of a sluggish Gliver Beetle – which was to say not fast at all. She spied Bellatrix descending towards the ground as she exited the clouds that blanketed a background made of golden sunlight hues. Hermione's head filled with thoughts as she sat idle in the air, and her own recognition of the Black sister's beauty shocked her. When she dissected that feeling, she discovered it frightened her dearly. Bellatrix's black spirals that whipped behind her in the woman's frenzied flight made her hands flex, but imagining running them through the curled locks sufficed her enough for the reality that could not be.

Another startling fact gave her pause. Though only moments prior the same witch was threatening Hermione's very life, the contrast of anger with contentment and dare she say _bliss_ of the many masks the woman wore almost made her believe Bellatrix to have some mental disorder. Excluding the mania she obviously exhibited on occasion, of course. Hermione had never seen Bellatrix look more free than when she was soaring in the air. Even the woman's cackling sounded more genuine, unrestrained yet more tuned than the usual maniacal screeches. She felt weightless, but she could not tell whether it was from hovering meters above the ground or the smile painted on her companion's face.

“Are you ready, Granger?”

_Why was she asking?_

The unspoken thought was answered by a brownish-red ball that nearly knocked her head off, but missed the bushy crown by mere inches. Their game had begun.

With the sun at its peak, Bellatrix grinned at the moisture that spotted her brow. This hadn't been the plan, they were _supposed_ to just strictly put the basics of broomstick-flying to real-life. She could not resist though since rediscovering the sport of her youth caused her to act like a dog taught how to fetch. Now that every time Bellatrix hit free air, she wanted to to play Quidditch even if meant playing with her inferiors. Her eyes sought out for the timid brunette and watched said girl examining the three o-shaped, homemade goalposts.

Something about the way the young witch's eyes squinted at the hoops made a smile twitch upon Bellatrix's ruby lips, only doing so with the knowledge that she was far away from the girl for her to not see the action. She tried to ignore the guilt that ate away at her stomach lining like rust corroding metal, but it proved pointless. Part of her did believe that the Granger girl was truly at fault, old enough to know better. _A child soldier_ , Bellatrix thought privately. Not unlike herself in the first 'war' between the Dark and Light opposing sides. That thought snagged itself into the mesh of her mind, each connecting tendrils of dilapidated memories. It was strange that she felt the uneasiness of shame settle on her shoulders as she remembered dragging her family heirloom through Granger's skinny arm. Bellatrix's expression changed into one akin to smelling something most foul, and her stomach reacted the same.

There were redeeming qualities about the girl, despite her unfortunate blood status. Perhaps she'd even make a fine addition for her young nephew, but as soon as the thought came into Bellatrix's head, her hands gripped the broom handle without mercy. _No, of course he wouldn't have her. Undeserving._ It was unclear which party in the hypothetical arrangement she thought was unworthy. Upset, Bellatrix started to shake her handle up and down in a rapid motion as the girl refused to exit her thoughts. Thoughts about _her_ were not allowed and neither were the emotions that lingered under Bellatrix's hollow eyes. By the contrary, the girl could be mistaken as the source for any life found in them.

The crazed witch attracted the attention her companion and damned herself for the inability to hide her emotions. _Not all of us can be blessed with the gift of indifference like Cissy_ , Bellatrix thought with annoyance. Granger sat awkwardly on the broom and if she were anyone else at the time, she would have laughed. _Laugh_ as if she and the girl were friends. The mere idea made her insides shrink in distaste. Perhaps the glazed croissant she ate that morning hadn't been the best choice. The thick icing now threatened to spew all over the girl, making her as dirty as her namesake. Before she let the witch ask whatever question evident on her tongue, Bellatrix ceased her manic throes and resumed the elegant poise of her upbringing. “I'm fine, you nose little wretch. Now, as you were.”

Though the dismissal was swift and spat with a voice like nails on a chalkboard, it did not deter the girl. “I wasn't going to ask you how you're feeling.” Granger replied tensely, her delicate hands held on tight to the object that kept her from plummeting. “Jumping to conclusions, are we?”

It oddly reminded the dark witch of her youngest sister, and the thought of Narcissa's height scarcely differing through the years between her girlhood and now. Bellatrix nearly smiled but her companion's presence surged through the moment's respite, and lips that should have curled upwards instead fell down-turned. The little brat had gall, she gave her that.

“I believe you have a memory problem. You keep forgetting who you're talking to, child.”

“You'll have my respect when you've earned it.”

Bellatrix's body stiffen and it was entirely too hard not to react. With an angry shriek, she was ready to tear into the damned witch before aforementioned girl interrupted her.

“Which,” Granger stressed, and the way she said it bothered her, the tone of a mother chiding her little one, “is necessary for our arrangement. I mean it, Bellatrix, I can't help someone who won't even allow me to do so.”

With a scoff, Bellatrix threw up her hands and gestured to the space between them. “What's all of this then? Am I not taking your feeble help now?” she rushed her retort, and faltered when the girl had one of her own at the ready.

“I don't know what this is!” Granger yelled, though tried to keep her composure as her eyes flickered to the ground far beneath the two flying witches. “You asked me out here at your own insistence and you can't be civil for one minute, never mind ten consecutive ones!”

She cursed herself as the girl had verbally backed her into a corner. Bellatrix's traitorous eyes strayed to a heaving chest, exhausted with the hot temperament the girl clearly was not accustomed to. What could she tell her? That her mind was not only _hers_ , but fractured into another unknown consciousness. That was the only explanation for what Bellatrix deemed another personality that overtook her. After the fall of her lord, her mind was clear of the Unforgivable curse's influence, but its effects lingered. It would be astounding if they had not, but the side effect that she experienced was a separation of identity- her previous personality before meeting Tom Riddle, and the woman she turned into at the hands of Voldemort.

The split between the two was consistently volatile once the personalities grew conscious of the other, only to be immediately disarmed in the moment after a particular outburst. Granger seemed to be a trigger for it, or at least how she felt from the girl was. Both shards of her identity warred within her as part of Bellatrix's daily life, and she had never been spared a day since _His_ death. That is until she became reacquainted with Hermione Granger. A name as foul as it was sweet for Bellatrix to have caress the landscape where her thoughts resided. She chose to hate her and why? She was continuing to stain her legacy as a disgraced noblewoman by treating the girl as such, and privately her true desires lied opposite to her pretenses. For what?

As hard as it was to act so heinous to the girl, it was much harder to face what she had done, and the terrible atrocities that came from her hand. Though Hermione's arm was clear of the evidence, Bellatrix could still picture the mark she made upon smooth, pale skin. _Mudblood_ , a voice like hers chimed in the back of her head, though it was garbled with the impassioned speech of her mother and father's unsavory remarks. It was hard to shut down their voices and anything further was short of impossible- forgiving herself for what she did. So when an apology was not her response, the uncomfortable knot in her chest refused to ease. “This is helping you be more tolerable.” was all Bellatrix could manage, her throat hoarse.

Hermione understood what she meant and although it was not boldly pronounced, she knew it translated to 'I'm spending time with you and I'm surprised I don't hate you'. The smile that was put on the girl's face was beyond anything Bellatrix had ever seen. The simple act nearly knocked Bellatrix from her broom, but her attention was captured by a small figuring gesturing for their attention. With much regret, the two looked at each other with words unsaid lingering in their abandoned air before returning to the balcony. As they rapidly approached, Bellatrix could see the familiar tailored suit of her nephew.

He stopped the wild arm-waving and fixed his sleeves with a huff, seemingly annoyed with the task of fetching the witches. When Draco greeted Hermione first, the dark witch stood back and surveyed their interactions. Although she knew the friends to be entirely genial, Bellatrix could not help how _jealous_ she felt. It was easy for him to talk to her and admittedly, part of her wished for that same ease in her own conversations with the girl, but her inner thoughts were interrupted by Draco's startling words. “You'll have to go to St. Mungo's. I believe that's where Mrs. Weasley said they'd be.” his honeyed voice directed.

The girl would not be leaving. A new anxiety gripped Bellatrix where even the idea of parting with the girl seemed too much to bear and she fought to control her reaction. Of course, she couldn't. “Going somewhere? She has much to do here and too little time, I'm afraid.” she said simply, as though the matter was over and done with.

“I will stay up tonight with you and we can go over our work, but I have to go to her.” Granger replied, her voice so rigid in its confidence yet wavering in an unknown worry. Perhaps if she were someone who could still feel, she'd imagine the girl's emotions became her own. Almost, but not quite.

Bellatrix closed the gap between the parties and searched Granger's eyes with a desperate, silent scream in her own. Malfoy Manor was a gilded cage, she knew that, but she needed the girl in one of her own. A thorn in her side, though she'd grown to savor the pain. “Who,” she growled, “is,” each syllable sharp and critical in its utterance, “' **her** '?”

With eyes of milk chocolate and caramel undertones upon her own, she noticed how the young witch seemed to deflate, Bellatrix's demands sapping her need of fight. “Ginny's been poisoned. I need to see her, I just-” Hermione's eyes went wide and she dared to place her skin-taut hands on the girl's forearms to steady her, to be her anchor as she seemed fragile. “I need to see that she is taken care of.” she finished, a quiver – no, _whine_ in a desperate submission for an allowance.

Uncertainty was not a comfortable feeling for the old witch. She sought out Draco's comforting shoulder and anchored herself to him, her head turned from her young companion. In low velvet tones, Bellatrix asked him, “She will return, won't she?”

Whether the boy intended to hide his surprise at the vulnerable state of his aunt or _not_ , he had _not_. But he spoke in the same hushed tone, a soothing, “She'll be back.”

The confirmation begat the allowance and Bellatrix released her single hold on Hermione, exhaling a breath she hadn't known she held. She knew Draco and the girl were sharing confused looks behind her, an unspoken question not dared to be brought before the room's attention. She felt the girl's gentle hand on the swell of her back before she watch her leave out her bedroom door, and wondered why her room felt so cold with Granger's exit.

Bellatrix shivered and motioned Draco to follow her, the two slowly spilling into the hallway and enveloping themselves in a warmth between black walls. “Any plans tonight, dear nephew?” she asked, a sudden smirk on her lips. She fought the urge to laugh when his face showed his wariness, but he played along.

“Nothing that comes to mind. Why, may I ask?”

“I think your mother ordered that Russian White Witch Rum I've been asking for.”

Hermione never liked hospitals. Ever since the unfortunate _feline_ accident in her second year, she loathed to be anywhere near them, even somewhere as small as the Hogwarts infirmary. However, St. Mungo's was _expansive_ and seemed never-ending in its placid, white walls. The monotony and quiet suffering within each block of the building unnerved her. She'd spent far too long living with impending doom on the horizon and only now could she see a way out of the dark.

She knocked on Room 673 with a timid beat and rushed in once the door was opened. On the bed laid a sickly Ginny Weasley, pale with sweat beads upon her freckled brow. Harry was sat in a chair next to her, his clasped hands the settlement for his sharp jaw. Mrs. Weasley was settled in her husband's side, the two parents worried for the life of one of their children yet again. Hermione wondered when it would end. Though the redheaded chaser was still conscious, she could tell that Ginny was in no state to be interrogated.

After three hours, no one had said a word to each other since Hermione's arrival, and she couldn't tell if it were _because_ of that or if they were silent before. Dark clouds were rolling in as the sun began to set, and the lavender skies seemed to echo the melancholy she felt. Harry left right before the rain started, the world outside turning void of any color or light save for the soft glow of street lanterns and the nearby houses. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley departed with the latter of the two throwing a meaningful look between her daughter and Hermione.

When she was finally alone, she slipped into the chair Harry previously sat in. Her hand found Ginny's in soft, yet scratchy hospital blankets and she shook her head, then watched as her friend stirred. “What happened to you, Gin?” she asked softly, her voice the texture of flower petals.

“Poisoned.” the redhead rasped, her lungs sounded full of fluid.

Hermione could hardly believe that such a fate could befall her friend, but she surmised the possibility of having enemies even after the war was not so far-fetched. “Do you know who did this?”

The way that Ginny's red-rimmed eyes turned away from hers into a downcast stare, as if she were in the midst of a heavy debate within herself. When she finally broke silence, Hermione regretted that she had done so. “The med-witch said she found traces of a common poison that causes ulcers in the stomach. It can go unnoticed for a few days and after that it's...torture.”

She winced and held her hand tighter, but the action did not soothe her of the wronging in her chest. “Who would poison you?” Hermione asked, trying to envision a list of suspects.

Though Ginny hissed as she slowly reclined against the hospital bed, she settled easily enough. Again, Hermione thought her strange as uncertainty stained pallor cheeks again. “They told me it was laced in some tarts I had at...the Black's Ball.”

An overwhelming sense of defeat dropped in her stomach, the sour taste unfamiliar to her sat uncomfortably in her mouth. If any of the Black sisters were suspected of poisoning Ginny Weasley, all of their planning, their work will have been for naught. Out the window went any redemption for Bellatrix, any social reprisal for Narcissa, and Andromeda's...well, what exactly did Andromeda get out of all of this? Puzzled by a new onslaught of questions, Hermione pushed it out of her mind for now. She needed to stop this train from diverting from the tracks. “Surely the Blacks are suspect, but would they be so bold as to poison their own dinner trays?”

“I don't think they did, Hermione.” Ginny replied tersely, annoyance wavering in the air between them. “But nothing I told Kingsley is going to change his mind.”

“What? What did you tell him? Ginny, what is he going to do?” And at that moment, Hermione wished she hadn't asked.

“Tomorrow morning, he's taking Bellatrix in for questioning.”


End file.
